Each year, my son planted sunflowers in memory of his twin sister who passed away—then one morning, we discovered them all cut down, with a white box left behind.

holding a small packet of sunflower seeds.

“They were her favorite,” he whispered. “We should still celebrate her.”

So we planted them.

The first patch was uneven, messy, far from perfect. Some flowers leaned too far to one side. Some never bloomed at all. But when the first yellow face opened toward the sky, Patrick stood in front of it with tears in continue reading …