I’ve often resented your writing so much about your daughter who died. Because I also lost a daughter.And I felt you were taking advantage of her to keep your column alive. But this essay is so beautiful that I’m sitting here crying.And I have to admit to myself how I’d long for that one day with my daughter. Why I’d long for even an hour. It reminds me of the scene in Thorton Wilders play: Our Town when Emily returns from the graveyard to the town. And she picks her birthday as the day to come. But she’s devastated when she arrives that her family pays so little attention to each precious moment—they just hurry along oblivious. It’s so painful she quickly returned to the graveyard where time is different. Where time is eternity. And I often feel that way—As if I’m not paying attention. And certainly I wasn’t paying attention before my daughter died. Not at all. And now I can’t. Now I can’t. It’s the irretrievable part of death that causes this huge sense of loss. whether it’s hours or minutes or days, there’s no more.