Leah

Leah was four years and four months old when J.J. had his stroke. She'll never remember her Daddy being different than he is right now. She won't remember a time when his voice sounded smooth as velvet, a time when he could sing silly songs to her, a time when he told intricate bedtime stories.

I should feel sorry for her. That J.J. was amazing, and it's so not fair that this happened while she was so young.

But I don't. I'm actually a little jealous of her. She doesn't know what she's missing, so she doesn't miss it.

But I do.