The week after Lily died, time lost all meaning. I moved through her funeral in a daze, barely registering the condolences. Arriving home that evening, I nearly missed the vibrant tent standing in my otherwise gray backyard. Part of me thought I was hallucinating from exhaustion.
Inside, a tiny golden Labrador puppy stirred beneath a blanket, her pink bow slightly crooked. The discovery of Lily’s note shattered what remained of my composure. My terminally ill daughter had secretly arranged this gift with her father – a living piece of her love to comfort me after she was gone.
Daisy became my reason to get out of bed each morning. Her puppy antics brought reluctant smiles even on my darkest days. Though no one could replace Lily, this energetic ball of fur carried forward her spirit in unexpected ways – chewing the same toys Lily had loved, curling up in her favorite spots. The tent where we’d met remained a sacred space where I often sat remembering how love can transcend even death’s finality.
