I adopted a five-year-old girl I found wrapped in my late daughter’s jacket – years later, she handed me a note and said, “Your daughter asked me to give this to you today.”

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I could not pass the intersection where it happened. I could not open her closet without needing to sit down.

What I missed most was her voice. Not even the big things. Just the ordinary sound of her calling “Mom” from another room, as if there would always be another room between us.

Every Sunday, I went to our local church.

I went when I felt faithful,continue reading …