Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. We all think we have one more tomorrow. We all assume that we’ll see the sun, be with those we love, to laugh and love and live. There’s a song that asks, “If today was your last day”- what would you do? What would I do if I knew that by this morning, at 11:04, I wouldn’t be able to tell those I loved goodbye, be able to hug them or get mad at them and make up for all the small thoughtless things I said or did? After three years, I still can’t answer that question. I still go to bed assuming I have all of tomorrow and the next day and next week and next year, to make up, to love, to fight, to make up again and to laugh and cry together. To be annoyed when someone is more huggy than you and you’re not in the mood, to love them even more for somehow finding the time to make your sick daughter her favorite soup recipe because you asked and even though it wasn’t in her freezer and she was busy, she made the time because she loved so deeply and completely. To miss, even three years later, the sighs that so annoyed you then, that you’d give anything to hear again next week at school. To look at your chat and see that three years ago this Wednesday afternoon, you were both too busy to do more than send each other Happy Pesach stickers. And her last words to you were “cool” about your changing sticker. Now that chat is filled with three years of unanswered messages, when my heart needed to share news, good and........

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