I never imagined my daughter’s father-daughter dance would end in tears, until a dozen Marines walked into the gym and changed everything. As sadness and pride mingled on that dance floor, I understood the true extent of love and loyalty. That night, Keith’s promise came back to us.
When you lose someone, time behaves strangely.
The days blur together until everything seems like one long morning in which you wake up wishing that reality had changed.
It’s been three months since my husband’s funeral, but sometimes I still expect to see his boots by the door. I still pour myself two cups of coffee and check the lock three times every night because that’s what he always did.
This is what mourning looks like: ironed dresses and shoes with sticky bows, and a little girl carefully guarding her hope, like the pink socks she insists on wearing for every special occasion.
“Katie, do you need help?” I called from the hallway. She didn’t answer right away.
When I peeked into her room, I found her sitting on the bed, gazing at her reflection in the closet mirror. She was wearing the dress Keith had chosen last spring, the one she called her “roll-up dress.”
“Mom?” she asked. “Does it still count if Dad can’t come with me?”
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