If you had asked me a year ago what would change my life, I would have said cancer or grief, two things that my daughter, Ashley, and I had lived through.
But sometimes it is a batch of cookies, baked by the smallest hands in your house, that cracks open a door you never wanted to face.
My name is Caleb, and last Easter, my daughter did something so simple, but so big that my hands still shake when I think about it.
Ashley’s always had a heart too big for her chest. She gets that from her mother, Hannah, who never let a stranger stay a stranger.
My name is Caleb, and last Easter, my daughter did something so simple.
Since Hannah died, it has just been me and Ash, scraping by in our creaky two-bedroom apartment, trying to make sense of bills, grief, and the small routines that tether you to the world.
Leave a Comment