***

Grief shapes, shifts. Like losing an arm or leg, Hatch and Hamill agree, only not as easily defined.

“A major amputation,” Hamill said.

“You just … you never get used to it,” Hatch said. “You can only resign yourself to it.”

She’ll slip into memories of her unicorn-loving, tree-climbing daughter in the middle of washing dishes or sweeping the floor and “it feels like it happened yesterday.”

It’s the not knowing that’s most unbearable.

“It’s one thing that a family member’s killed in a car wreck or through some accident. And at least you know what happened and you don’t have to speculate on the horrors they may have gone through,” Hamill said.

Both have visual impairments and neither drive, so the brother and sister have remained in Richmond, rooted by the city’s walkability and relative ease of getting to places such as the grocery store.

Each time Hamill walks or bikes along West Grace Street and Hanover Avenue, his mind returns to Jessica. He often wonders about the person she would have grown up to be. He prays nightly for her soul.