Shh, little darling…’” “You’re s-singing.” Sniffling, she clung to my chest. “‘Here Comes the Sun.’” I was singing. I was doing whatever I could to make this better for her. “That’s m-my Granda Murphy’s s-song,” she hiccupped. “You remember me t-telling you t-that?” “Yeah.” I remembered her telling me about her grandfather singing this song to her when she was frightened, and it was all I could do in this moment.
