The moment my daughter took her last breath, a part of me died with her. I felt grief and relief collide in my chest as I held her hand, watching the light fade from eyes that had once lit up every room. She was only forty. A mother, a fighter, a voice for so many. Now her children, just teenagers, wake to a world without her laugh, her texts, her messy, wonderful love. I replay her final days, the quiet courage, the whispered jokes through the pain. I wonder how you go on when the person who taught you to live is gone. I wonder how you explain to a child that their hero isn’t coming ba… Continues…