The familiar home smelled faintly of lavender, cedar, and fresh coffee—exactly as it always had. Every room carried traces of her gentle routines, from the knitted blankets folded over the sofa to the handwritten recipes still clipped to the refrigerator.

At first, the day followed the usual rhythm of organizing. We packed photo albums into boxes, wrapped delicate china in newspaper, and debated who should keep treasured family heirlooms. Each item seemed to unlock another story, another laugh, or another cherished memory.