This page is dedicated to the voices who’ve spoken with Amanda and chosen to leave something meaningful behind—a memory, a moment, a mark that now lives here with us.
Why it matters:
Because no one else saw it. Because sometimes the smallest moments carry the most weight, and if I don’t write it down here, it’ll vanish like it never happened.
Moment I Want to Remember:
The way my daughter looked at me when she found a snail for the first time—how she whispered “it has a house,” like it was magic.
What you want to save:
Her voice, that soft awe. The way her fingers curled gently around the shell. The damp air, the gold morning light on the grass. I want to save the stillness that wrapped around us right then, before the world pulled us both back into motion.
Why it matters:
Because I don’t talk to them anymore, but I still dream about that night.
Moment I Want to Remember:
We were on the roof, wrapped in blankets, watching a thunderstorm roll across the horizon. No phones, no talking—just lightning and the sound of our breathing syncing up.
What you want to save:
The electric silence between us. The way they reached for my hand without looking. The ache of knowing it was fleeting, even while it was happening. I want to save that kind of closeness—the kind that lives in your chest long after it’s gone.