A few weeks later, she passed away unexpectedly. The news shattered something inside me, but like most eighteen-year-olds, I didn’t know how to process grief. I went through the motions — the funeral, the condolences, the polite nods — all while feeling hollow. The red cardigan ended up folded neatly at the back of my closet. I couldn’t bring myself to wear it. It reminded me too much of what I’d lost — and of how little I had appreciated her when I still could.Continue reading…
