After Lily’s funeral, I sat numb in my car for nearly an hour, dreading the emptiness waiting inside our home. That’s when I noticed the red-and-yellow striped tent standing proudly in my backyard – something straight out of Lily’s favorite storybooks. My exhausted mind wondered if grief had finally broken me.
Inside, a wiggling golden puppy greeted me with enthusiastic licks. Beneath her lay a note in my daughter’s handwriting, explaining this was her final gift arranged before she passed. “Daisy will make you smile when you miss me,” she’d written with an eight-year-old’s profound simplicity.
At first, caring for Daisy felt impossible through my grief. But the puppy’s needs didn’t allow me to withdraw completely. She demanded walks, playtime, cuddles – all the things Lily had loved too. Gradually, Daisy’s presence became less painful and more comforting, like a living connection to the daughter I’d lost. The tent remained in our yard for months, a sacred space where I often sat remembering how Lily’s love had reached beyond death to save me.
