I still remember the sterile smell of the hospital and the beeping of the machines on the day my world shattered. My daughter, Emma—just sixteen—was walking home from the library when a speeding car ran a red light. In a single, devastating moment, she was gone.
The days afterward passed in a haze. I found myself retreating to her room, curled up in her favorite hoodie, surrounded by the books she adored. My ex-husband, Tom, came by the day before the funeral. We sat in silence on her bed until he pointed to a book on climate change beside her nightstand. “She was going to change the world,” he whispered. And she really was. Emma had dreams of attending UC Davis for environmental science, a field she was deeply passionate about.
Soon after, Tom and I were faced with a painful question: what should happen to Emma’s college fund? Years of saving, plus every dollar she earned scooping ice cream during summers at the boardwalk, had grown the fund to $25,000. It didn’t feel right to spend it on anything that didn’t reflect her spirit.
Going through her notes, we found lists she’d made—charities focused on reforestation and programs mentoring girls in climate studies. That’s when we knew. We chose two of those organizations and donated the fund in her name. In that decision, we felt her presence. As if—even in grief—she was still leading us, still making a difference.
