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Constance was in the kitchen, packing the picnic basket.They hugged. It was a long hug, something they’d gotten used to in the weeks since Constance...had begun her journey back amongst the living. It was a clinging kind of hug, and tight, that conveyed a lot of unspoken emotion, going both ways.Then they were off to spend some time sitting under a tree, eating, and talking. Bobby tried to spend at least an hour or two with Constance each week, doing simple things, and getting her to go places.. My mind struggles to keep the thoughts of my daughter out as they return to the bed.“Do you want to read it?” Sara asks.Once again, I question, “Read what?”She opens the drawer of the nightstand as she says, “Mom’s diary.”Looking at the book in Sara’s hand, I ask, “She had a diary?”“Of course she did,” she says as she hands it to me. “Begin reading at the bookmark.”“Would you like us to leave?” Kim asks.Opening the book, I wonder what it contains that prompted this series of events. As I turn a. More

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