It was six months after we lost Gary that the doctors told me the treatments were no longer working on Sophie.  I never told Sophie. How do you tell a five year old they are dying, and there is nothing that can be done to help them? I took her home, and had the best four months of our lives, savoring every single moment. We went to the park, zoo, and any other place Sophie wanted to go. When she died, I thought I would never live again. I spent a month at home, never getting dressed, or opening the curtains. I just lay in bed. One day out of the blue I heard the phone ringing. Most of my friends had given up on getting me to answer the phone, or the door, for that matter, so it caught me by surprise. I started to ignore it, but something told me to pick it up this time. I slowly made my way to the living room, thinking who ever was on the other end would give up before I got to the phone. When I picked up the receiver, a familiar voice greeted me, a voice I knew all too well. “Trisha, this is Doctor Kent. I heard about Sophie, and I wanted to call and tell you how sorry I was. How are you doing?” I started to lie and say I was fine, but decided that wouldn’t work, I could not fool him. “I don’t think I’ll ever live again.” I stated honestly. “That is understandable, a great trauma has shaken your life.” He said kindly “You need to give yourself plenty of time to adjust and heal.” When I put the phone back in it’s cradle a few moments later, a new peace and serenity fill my spirit. For the first time in a month, I actually wanted to get dressed, and open my curtains, and try to get on with my life. Things would never be the same, but I could go on and live my life. Sophie or Gary would not have wanted me to just lie down and give up. After taking stock of the food in the house, I decided a trip to the market was in order. After a quick shower, I pulled, my still wet hair back in a ponytail, put on my tennis shoes and headed out. After returning from the market, I noticed how much my house was in much need of attention, and quickly set myself to the task. It was odd to me how it took so little to motive me to put my life back together. At times I wondered if I had really loved my daughter or husband, because I was so willing to pick up the pieces and move on so soon after losing Sophie. I spent many days at the cemetery, sitting between the graves of my husband and small daughter. I cried many tears, and seriously questioned my devotion and love for those that I had lost. Had I really loved them and if so, why was it so easy for me to just pick up and move on? Would they be hurt to know just how quickly I had left them behind, or how little I had grieved for them? Did my life today reflect my lack of love for them?