After burying her eight-year-old daughter Lily, Ashley returned home, her heart weighed down by grief. Every step she took felt like trudging through thick mud, the sadness making her bones ache. But when she pulled into her driveway, something in her backyard made her stop, her breath catching in her throat.
It had only been a week since they’d said goodbye. A week since she’d watched Lily’s little body, so full of life just days earlier, become still. The hospital was a blur now, memories of whispered prayers, machines, and her daughter’s fading giggles haunting Ashley in her dreams.
“I thought I was ready to say goodbye,” Ashley whispered to the empty house as she sat in the car. “But I wasn’t. I wasn’t ready to let her go.”
The funeral had been surreal. She had felt like a ghost among the mourners, the faces of friends and family swirling around her, their words distant, like they were speaking through water. “Ashley, I’m so sorry,” Aunt Ruth had whispered as she enveloped her in a hug, too tight, her perfume thick and suffocating. But Ashley couldn’t feel it—not the hug, not the sympathy. She could only feel the ache of missing Lily.
“She was such a light,” someone had said, but it was a voice from far away. A voice that didn’t matter. Ashley couldn’t focus on anything except the hollow echo of her daughter’s giggles, knowing she’d never hear them again.
When the last mourner left, Ashley was alone. She stared at the empty chair where Lily should have been sitting, the grief pressing down on her until she felt she might collapse right there. Memories of her final days flooded her mind. The sound of the machines in the hospital room. The tubes. Her tiny body fighting, but growing weaker every day.
“Let me know if you need anything,” someone had said as she left the cemetery, but it had been a hollow offer. What could anyone do? How could anyone take away the pain?
The drive home was silent. Ashley couldn’t bring herself to turn on the radio—everything felt wrong, too cheerful. Even the world outside seemed muted, the colors of life duller than they’d ever been before.
When she pulled into the driveway, something caught her eye. There, in the backyard, stood a large, brightly colored tent. It looked like something from a circus, the red and yellow stripes stark against the dull, gray sky. Flags fluttered at the top, and her heart skipped a beat.
“What… is that?” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling.
She rubbed her eyes, thinking it must be a hallucination—grief, exhaustion, the weight of the last few days playing tricks on her. But no. The tent was still there, standing in her yard like it had appeared out of nowhere. She blinked, her pulse quickening. How could this be real?
Ashley’s legs shook as she stepped out of the car. The tent was so out of place, like an alien object in the middle of her world of sadness. “Who put this here?” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. “And why today?”
Her body felt heavy as she approached it. The wind rustled the flags, making them snap in the breeze. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “This can’t be real,” she said, but the reality of it was sinking in. It was here. And there was no explanation.
She pulled open the flap, her fingers trembling. Inside, there was something small, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Her stomach twisted as her mind raced back to the hospital, to the sight of her daughter lying under those covers, the tubes, the machines.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, not again…”
Then, the bundle moved.
Ashley froze, her heart slamming in her chest. The movement was so sudden, so unexpected, that she couldn’t breathe. Then, slowly, a tiny golden retriever puppy peeked out from the blanket, its fur gleaming like sunlight, a small pink bow tied around its neck.
Her breath hitched. “What… what are you doing here?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, a strange mix of confusion and emotion swirling inside her.
The puppy stumbled forward, its tiny tail wagging, its innocent eyes full of curiosity. It was so full of life, so pure, so unexpected. Ashley knelt down, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch its soft fur. And there, under the blanket, she found something else—a small envelope, tucked carefully beneath the folds of the fabric.
Her hands shook as she picked it up. The handwriting on the front was unmistakable—messy, childlike, but undeniably Lily’s.
Her heart pounded as she opened the envelope, her fingers trembling. The note inside read:
“Dear Mommy,
I know you’re sad because I had to go to heaven. But I wanted to leave you something to help you smile again. I asked Daddy to get you a puppy, so you’ll have someone to cuddle with when you’re missing me. Her name is Daisy, and she loves to play! Please take care of her for me. I’ll always be with you, watching from above. I love you so much.
Love, Lily.”
Tears filled Ashley’s eyes as she clutched the note to her chest. She cried harder than she had during the funeral, harder than she had since the moment she knew she was losing her daughter. “Lily…” she sobbed, her voice broken.
Even in her last days, her precious daughter had thought of her. She had known how much pain Ashley would be in, and somehow, she had found a way to reach out from beyond, to offer a gift of comfort.
Daisy was more than just a puppy. She was a symbol of Lily’s love, a reminder that love never truly fades, even when someone is gone.
Ashley held Daisy close, the warmth of the puppy’s body filling her with a sense of peace she hadn’t felt since Lily’s death. In the days that followed, Daisy became her constant companion, her presence pulling Ashley out of the darkness, giving her a reason to move forward, even when the grief felt like it would swallow her whole.
Lily’s gift wasn’t just a puppy—it was a reminder that love transcends death, and that even in the hardest times, we are never truly alone.
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