I said,
“You can be angry at what someone did without deciding they are entirely bad.”
She thought about that.
Then asked,
“Are you going to see him?”
“Yes.”
“Because you still love him?”
I hesitated.
Because the answer was not simple.
“Because he deserves to know you’re okay.”
Lily nodded.
Then said,
“I’m coming.”
Dad contacted Carl.
He was living in a care facility about two hours away.
His condition had not progressed to the point that he was helpless, but managing it alone had become complicated enough that having support made sense.
Lily and I drove there together that Saturday.
During the drive, she asked about Emily.
Not how she died.
Who she was.
So I told her.
The climbing.
The running.
The falling.
The laughing.
How she spoke to strangers.
How Dad called them an ecosystem.
Lily stared through the windshield.
“I’ve always felt her.”
