Four months after losing my 11-year-old daughter, we moved away to start over — then my 5-year-old said, “Mom, I saw Ava in the window across the street.”

Graham survived with a broken arm, three fractured ribs, and a scar running along his temple.

Maren never came home.

There are losses people tell you time will soften.

Maybe they’re right.

But four months isn’t time.

Four months is still opening the refrigerator and finding the yogurt your child liked. It’s hearing a girl laugh in a grocery store and turning around before your mind can stop you. It’s waking at three in the morning because for two seconds you forgot, and then remembering all over again.

I might have stayed in bed forever if I didn’t still have Lucy.