“Why did he have to die, Mom?” my 8-year-old daughter Selah asked me, her green eyes full of tears.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. And I hug her. I hold her and think about Harold, my father-in-law we lost unexpectedly last year. As I hold her, I look up and see the giant life-sized picture she drew of him taped to her wall, and the banner that says, “Grandpa” hanging above her window, and the tears roll down my cheeks and into her blonde hair. I don’t know how to explain to her why her vibrant, funny, joyful Grandpa died.