There are days when I still can't believe I live in a world where my daughter doesn't. It feels impossible to write that sentence because my heart still argues with it. The morning after Rhaegan died, the sun came up. My alarm went off. Cars drove past. People were heading out to run errands because that's what Saturdays are for, right? I lay in bed, my body paralyzed by a feeling I cannot put into words, my mind replaying the horror that took place less than 24hours before.

There is a strange silence that follows the loss of a child. Not just the silence in a room once filled with laughter or small footsteps, but the silence that settles around a grieving mother when the world slowly begins moving again while she remains standing in the wreckage of what was. My daughter, Rhaegan, was three years old when she passed away in a drowning accident. Even writing those words feels unreal. There are days my mind still searches for her automatically, as