“Hi, Dad. If you found this, it means you kept going like you promised. Don’t be sad, okay? I’m still riding with you. Buckle Snow in. Buckle me in.” The highway blurred. I realized grief wasn’t about holding on or letting go; it was about driving with both. So now Snow stays beside me, the seatbelt always clicked, every mile a quiet conversation between who I lost and who I’m still trying to be.
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