ELIANA.

To my Eliana.

From Nana.

Those words would echo for so long to come. I remember the moment I first held the letter in my hands. My chapped dirt-filled fingernails clinging to the piece of paper with almost as much curiosity as devastation.

The grief still hit, like a storm against my face, a sour taste in the back of my throat. The grief was there.

But in that moment, I remembered Denver's words. In this moment too.

As I walked towards her coffin ...