Part 1: The Morning My Dog Wouldn’t Stop Scratching at the Door

had long gone cold, staring out at the backyard through fogged glass. The mug read “Best Mom Ever,” written in colorful marker. Lily had given it to me the previous spring.

That morning, I told myself I would take a sip. Just one. Something normal.

My hands didn’t move.

Some of Lily’s belongings had been taken away after the accident. I understood why,continue reading …