My mom had sprinkled her fairy dust laughter over every fear and heartache I'd known and made certain I found magical reasons to celebrate every day. She was the sparkle in Christmas and the fresh, safe scent of home. Dad always said flowers grew taller toward her encouraging eyes, hoping to please her. Such a gift she'd been to me, to everyone, year after year. And here I was, helplessly unable to return anything in this moment when she needed me most.