First, Brush Your Teeth: Grief and Hope in Real Time

December 15, 2018, was a warm, sunny Southern California day. Not at all like frosty scenes in the Christmas cards that begin arriving in the mail about that time each year. I sat in the bedroom in my comfy armchair texting Chip and the kids, finalizing plans for that evening's family outing to look at Christmas lights. I heard someone running down the stairs right outside my room and, not knowing which Espinoza kid it might be, hollered out, "Hey, can you go see Christmas lights with us tonight?"

Chandler yelled back, "I gotta get to work."

At about 4:30 that afternoon, my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but as parents always do, I answered it just in case it had something to do with one of my kids.

"Hello, is this Chandler Espinoza's mother?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"I'm from Mission Hospital. Your son has been hit by a car."

That's the day everything changed.