The picture has been mounted on my wall for ten years. She would have been fourteen, I think, letting tears fall. Looking at that happy smile, as she wrapped her arms around me, it’s hard to believe that I’ll never again hold my precious daughter. It seems as though it were only yesterday, and yet such a long time ago.

I try to re-enter that moment: the breeze blowing her hair, the faint lilac smell infusing the air, a smell that would cling to her for a few moments after we left. The feel of her arms clinging to my shoulders. The innocent smile on her face as she asked, “How long will you love me, Daddy?” And the light in her eyes as I told her, “Forever.” I want to go back to that moment.

I want to take a giant pink eraser, and scrub out that day. I want to erase that moment when she ran out across the street, and I want to erase the beer cans in the car of the man who ruined my life.

But the time has also come to move on. Carefully, I remove the picture from the wall, and put it in a box, for later.