Seven Years After My Daughter’s Funeral, I Followed Her Husband to a Rehabilitation Center—And Saw a Woman I Thought Was Dead
Her mother, Dorothy, had stood beside me while the minister spoke.
Calvin held their daughter, Ava, against his chest.
Ava was only five then.
She wore a pale-blue dress and kept asking when her mother would come home.
I remembered kneeling beside her after the service.
She touched the sealed urn.
“Is Mommy inside?”
I told her the urn contained what the funeral home had prepared for us.
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