A week ago, my 8-year-old daughter, Lily, lost her battle with cancer. Her funeral was as heartbreaking as one might imagine. When I returned home, utterly exhausted, I was met with something unexpected—a large, bright circus-like tent in my backyard.

On the day of my daughter’s funeral? It felt like a cruel prank.

Confused, I approached the tent, pulling back the flap. Inside was a bundle wrapped in a blanket identical to Lily’s from the hospital. Tears filled my eyes as I thought it was a twisted joke—until the bundle moved.

My heart raced. Fearing the worst, I leaned in and heard a familiar sound—a soft purr. Underneath the blanket was Muffin, Lily’s favorite kitten, along with a note in Lily’s messy handwriting: “For Mommy — So you don’t feel alone.”

I sobbed. The tent, our play tent from her last good day, became a symbol of her love. In that moment, I realized grief lasts forever, but so does love—Lily’s love would always be my shelter.