After my daughter died, there were days I wasn't sure life was worth it. I once wrote a list of thirteen things that kept me going. I padded it. Eight of them held up: laughter, sunshine, moving every day, gratitude, a few people, a purpose, the future, and curiosity. None of them fix anything. On the worst days, one was enough. Then a question worth asking your own teen.

After my mother died, my father walked into my room, sat down on my bed and asked whether I ever felt life wasn't worth living. I told him yes. I'd felt it after my daughter Maddie died. What followed was the most open conversation we'd ever had, and it taught me something about why almost nobody asks that question, and what happens when somebody finally does.