A tragic family event becomes a story of hope as I turn my parents' deaths into a narrative.

As I sat in the apartment that I shared with my mom, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. It was December 8, 2019, and I was getting ready to head out for my young-adult ministry internship at my church. But before leaving, I ran back into the apartment to grab a Diet Coke.

As I entered the kitchen, I saw my mom standing there, her warm smile lighting up the room. Without hesitation, I walked over and wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight. It was a simple gesture, but little did I know, it would be the last time I would ever get to hug her.

As we pulled away, I looked into her eyes and said those three words that we often take for granted - "I love you". I didn't think much of it at the time, just a casual goodbye before heading out for the day. But looking back now, those three words hold so much more meaning.

Little did I know, that would be the last time I would ever get to say those words to my mom. It breaks my heart to think about it, but I'm grateful that my last memory of her is filled with love and affection.

Leaving the apartment that day, I had no idea that my life was about to change forever. But looking back, I hold on to that last hug and those last words, cherishing them as a reminder of the love I shared with my mom.

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