Four years is how long I spent in high school; it’s how long it takes to get a Bachelor’s Degree, and in four years a child ages from ten to fourteen.  Four years would be a good stint at a job, and four years of marriage gives you credibility as a couple.  I could do a lot in four years, and I have.  Four years ago, my third daughter died.

Four years seems too long in some ways, and yet not long enough in others.  In four years, I’ve lived a lifetime.  A lifetime of tears, sorrow, and grief.  A lifetime of what-ifs and if-only’s.  A lifetime of intrusive memories that sporadically show up at the most inconvenient times, forcing me to immediately and silently relive pieces of the worst day of my life at the most inappropriate and inconvenient times.  A lifetime of thinking about the daughter I will never know in…