“Uncle Sammy and Uncle James are coming over today after work to set up your swing set.” I told my three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. She looked up at me excitedly with her beautiful emerald eyes, the same color her father’s had been. Keith had died three months ago, having been hit by a drunk driver as he headed back to us after closing a deal at the real estate office. He had called me first, telling me the good news that it had gone well, and he h...