Loss and Return Home
A week ago, my 8-year-old daughter, Lily, died from cancer.
Her funeral left me drained, and when I pulled into the driveway afterward, I froze.
A huge, circus-like tent stood in my backyard.
On the day of her funeral, it felt like a cruel joke.
I pulled back the flap and saw a bundle wrapped in a blanket, just like Lily’s from the hospital.
My heart sank—until it moved. Trembling, I opened it and heard a soft purr. Inside was Muffin, Lily’s favorite kitten.
A note, written in her messy handwriting, read: “For Mommy — So you don’t feel alone.”
A Gift of Love
Tears blurred my eyes. The tent wasn’t random—it was the play tent Lily and I had set up on her last good day.
My husband appeared and whispered, “I couldn’t leave it in the garage. She wanted you to have this. She loved it here.”Together, we sat inside with Muffin, feeling Lily’s presence all around.
Grief and Shelter
For the first time since her passing, the crushing grief lifted slightly, replaced by a sliver of peace.
Under the bright colors of that tent, I realized: grief may last forever, but so does love. Lily’s spirit lived on in memories, sunsets, soft breezes, and every little purr from Muffin. She may be gone, but she left behind joy and endless love—a shelter to hold onto even in the hardest times.
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