Weeks after losing my daughter in a tragic accident, I was drowning in grief and barely functioning. Then one foggy morning, our dog started acting strangely — and what he led me to changed everything.
My name is Erin. I’m 40 years old, and exactly three weeks ago, my world cracked in half. My 10-year-old daughter, Lily, was killed in a car crash on a rainy Saturday morning.
In the weeks that followed, I existed more than I lived. I moved through the house like a shadow, doing only what was necessary to keep breathing. I didn’t know how to be a mother in a world where my child no longer existed.
I don’t like talking about Lily’s death, but you need to understand what came after. That morning, I remembered her buckling her seatbelt, smiling wide, excited for her weekend art class. She loved drawing flowers — sunflowers most of all.
