I’ve always loved a good ritual. There’s something comforting about repetition — the way lighting a candle, brewing the same cup of coffee, or playing a familiar song can create a little order in the chaos. Rituals are how I’ve made sense of the world for as long as I can remember. They’re tiny ceremonies that say,  I’m still here. After Ken died, I held on to rituals like they were life rafts. I needed something to anchor me when everything else had come undone. I kept the