One for me.
Each contained photographs, drawings, and little stories about the daughter we had loved.
Margaret helped organize them.
She wrote
a note for the first page.
Sophie was a small girl with a very large heart. She belonged to both her parents, and her love remains with everyone who knew her.
When the album arrived, I opened it beside the window.
On the first page was a photograph of Sophie laughing with frosting on her nose.
I smiled through tears.
Then I turned the page.
And for the first time, remembering her brought more warmth than pain.
Not because the grief was gone.
But because love was beginning to find its way through it.
A year after Sophie’s death, I returned to Philadelphia.
Not for Dominic.
Not for his family.
And not because I was reconsidering my decision.
I came because I wanted to visit the place where my daughter’s life had begun.
