but to remember how fiercely Daniel loved the world.

In that love, she believes, a small part of him walks beside them still.

In Maple Ridge, time now feels divided into before and after. Hours earlier, Michael Hart had simply wanted to give his son a memory:

the rustle of trees, shared jokes, the click of a camera capturing Daniel’s wide grin.

By nightfall, he was replaying every second, wondering if there was a sign he’d missed,

a choice he could have changed. Doctors’ words about a hidden condition felt impossibly small beside the weight of a life gone.

Sarah Hart moves carefully through a house that still holds her son’s drawings and scattered toys, each one a reminder and a tether.

She refuses to let his story end only in tragedy.

At the trail’s entrance, where neighbors leave stuffed animals and handwritten notes,

she asks people not just to mourn, but to remember how fiercely Daniel loved the world.

In that love, she believes, a small part of him walks beside them still.