During the funeral for my mother and brother, I saw my four-year-old daughter, Maddie, reach into my brother’s open casket. A collective gasp rippled through the mourners. I rushed to her side, my heart a cold stone in my chest.
“Maddie, no, honey,” I whispered, trying to gently pull her back. “They’re just making sure Uncle Steve looks nice for his long sleep.”
But she didn’t move. She just pointed a tiny finger across the room. “That man over there,” she said, her voice clear in the heavy silence. “The one with the blue tie. He wants me to give this paper to you, Mommy.”
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