Two years ago, my husband and both of our children were killed by a drunk driver. Since then, I lived in silence, moving through the days like a ghost inside a house full of memories. One afternoon, I saw a flyer for a Halloween costume drive for children in need. Something in me stirred, and I donated my kids’ old costumes.
At the shelter’s party, a little girl wearing my daughter’s bumblebee costume ran up and hugged me, thanking me. Then she asked, softly, “Maybe you could be my mom?” Her name was Mia. That moment broke the numbness I’d been living in.
I began the adoption process. Six weeks later, she came home with me.
Grief didn’t disappear—but life returned. Now the house is loud again, full of laughter, crayons, and hope.
