Your third death anniversary is full of simple moments and magical thinking. We get donuts from your favorite shop, where you once begged fresh ones in the middle of the night when they were still baking. We look through digital photos so Dad can post one on Facebook in your memory. I pick an album at random—1995—and immerse myself in your four-year-old cuteness. I’m struck by your soft, tentative gesture and pensive expression looking down at a baby tortoise, much as you looked years later holding a cat. You gravitated instinctively to animals, contemplated and communed with them.