Every Friday at 6 p.m. my daughter called me without fail, and the one week my phone stayed silent I drove to her house and heard a sound from upstairs that turned our quiet Tennessee life into something I still can’t fully talk about

nightmares come maybe once a month instead of every night. She laughs more. I treasure that sound. She still keeps her stuffed bunny, but she doesn’t clutch it constantly anymore. She talks about Allison openly.

“Grandpa, remember when Mom taught me to make pancakes?” she’ll say.

She’s learning that she can be happy without feeling guilty.

My own healing continue reading …