After a drunk driver took my husband and both of my children, I stood trembling in the hospital parking lot and called my parents, barely able to keep the phone in my hand. My father listened in silence, then said, “It’s Jessica’s birthday today. We can’t come.”

the mothers who work beside me, the grieving fathers who volunteer at events, and the children who send drawings of bears, violins, and dinosaurs.

My parents live in a small apartment now.

Jessica and James are divorced.

Sophia’s education fund continues to grow quietly.

I still visit the cemetery every morning.

I still miss the sound of Emma’s violin.continue reading …