Not Every Sleeping Beauty Wakes Up
Four days after my death, my four-year-old daughter finally sensed that something was terribly wrong.
The fridge door slammed into her forehead when she tried to get a snack.
Normally, I would've been there in a heartbeat—arms open, kisses ready, whispering, "You're okay, sweetheart, Mommy's here."
But this time, I just lay on the bed, cold and still.
She didn't understand. She thought the sweet treat would make me respond. So she held the final piece of chocolate up to my mouth. "Here, Mommy. Have some chocolate..."
But I didn't even blink.
She climbed into my arms, clutching my clothes tightly. "Mommy... Mommy, wake up..." She waited for me to stroke her hair, to tell her that everythi
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