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

was sick. She was always there for everyone. And when you love people well, they love you back—even when you’re not here anymore.”

Amelia frowned.

“But Mom’s gone,” she said. “How can they still love her?”

“Love doesn’t disappear when someone dies,” I said. “It keeps moving through everyone they touched. Like an electrical current. It keeps flowing through continue reading …