Page 140 of I’m Already Gone

“Everyone knows frosting is the best part, Mom,” Maddy sings, the playfulness returning, though it’s quieter now.

Frosting is Maddy’s favorite task during our baking adventures. She likes to lick the frosting bowl afterward, usually leaving me with nothing but a few streaks of buttercream.

“Yes, I agree.”

Maddy and I slide the cupcake pans into the preheated oven. I shut the door and set the timer.

“I’ve missed this,” Maddy says as we add the last ingredients for the frosting.

“Missed what?” I ask, glancing over at her.

“Me. You. Baking together.”

“Me too. I’m so happy we get to do it again,” I say cheerfully.

“You mean for the last time,” Maddy mutters.

I shut the mixer off and turn to my daughter. “Oh, honey.” She comes into my arms willingly, burying her face into my chest.

“I hate this.” Her words are muffled against my apron.

“I hate this, too, Maddy. I know it probably won’t make you feel better, but I want to enjoy this time I have left with you. I don’t want you to think about what happens after.”

I pull her face gently away from my shoulder, wiping her tears with my thumb. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes red-rimmed. “Do you remember the jar of sand we made together when you were six years old?” I ask her.

“Yeah. What about it?” She sniffles again.

“Remember when you lost Bowie?” I say, referring to her pet hamster. “You were devastated. I didn’t know how to make you feel better. I offered to buy you a new one, but you said⁠—”

“No one can replace Bowie,” she finishes, a faint, watery smile touching her lips.

“Exactly. That’s why we filled a small jar with sand and added a small pebble for every memory you had with him. And then you added a ‘See you later’ note because you said it wasn’t a goodbye. Do you remember what I said afterward?”

She nods. “You said it was a keepsake for his memories and that he would always be with me.”

“And I want you to savor this moment now. Store it in your heart, like the memories you put in that jar of sand and keep it close forever.”

“I don’t want to not see you every day, Mom,” she blubbers, a hiccup escaping.

I take a deep, shaky breath, fighting back my own tears. As hard as it is, I need to be strong for my little girl. “I know you don’t. But I will always be with you. Even when I’m gone. I will be here”—I place my hand over her heart—“and here.” I tap her forehead. “Always and forever. Including when you have your first boyfriend, your first kiss, and your first breakup.”

She laughs through her tears.

“And your graduation, your wedding, and when you become a mother yourself,” I continue, holding back a broken sob. “I may not be here physically, but I will be with you in heart, spirit, and mind. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”

She nods with a half-smile. “Like an angel watching over me,” she whispers.

“Yes. Like an angel.”

We stare at each other for a long moment, the quiet in the kitchen broken by the soft ticking of the oven timer, until she says, “Always.”

“Always.”

“We’re back!” Ethan booms, a couple of grocery bags rustling in his hands as he steps into the kitchen with Jake and Ollie behind him.

“We got everything on your list,” Jake announces, hefting a couple more bags onto the counter.

“Look, Mama! We got you flowers!” Ollie bursts in, holding up a bouquet of white roses.