I buried my husband Johnny and our seven-year-old daughter Gemma on a gray Tuesday in Richmond.
My parents, Judith and Ricky, weren’t there. Neither was my older brother Jared.
They were two thousand miles away in Aruba.
When I told them the funeral date, my mother said changing their flights would be expensive and they’d already paid for the vacation. Jared sent a short message saying they were sorry, but there was “nothing they could do now anyway.”… Continue Reading ⬇️