Following the loss of my son Mason in a traffic accident, our home seemed to fall silent.
For nearly a year, grief settled into the ordinary spaces of our lives.
My teenage daughter, Hazel, withdrew more deeply than anyone. She spoke less, stopped participating in many of the things she once enjoyed, and found comfort mostly in the presence of Eli, her childhood best friend.
He never pressured her to talk.
Sometimes he simply sat beside her.
As prom season approached, I gently suggested that we look for a dress.
Mason had always wanted his sister to enjoy the milestones ahead of her, and I hoped the evening might give Hazel one small reason to step back into life.
We visited several boutiques around town.
The experience was harder than I expected.
Some stores simply did not carry her size. Others handled the situation without much sensitivity, leaving Hazel increasingly uncomfortable each time we walked away empty-handed.
By the time we returned home, she had made up her mind.
She locked herself in her bedroom and said she was not going to prom.
I did not argue.
Grief had taught me that sometimes love means knowing when not to push.