Losing my daughter forced me to learn how to survive the unimaginable. I thought I had already endured the worst the day we bur:ied Grace at eleven years old.

I never imagined that, two years later, a simple phone call from her old school would unravel everything I believed about her d3ath.

Back then, I was barely functioning. Neil handled it all—the hospital documents, the funeral, the decisions I couldn’t process through the fog of grief. He told me Grace had been declared brain-dead, that there was no hope. I signed forms without truly reading them. We had no other children, and I told him I couldn’t survive losing another.