I raised my grandson, Kevin, after his parents died in a car accident.He was only four.It was a Tuesday in February. Ice on the roads outside Dayton, Ohio. My son, Michael, and his wife, Rachel, were driving home from a church potluck on Route 35. Kevin was at my house, because I’d offered to keep him for the evening so they could have a little time to themselves.A tractor-trailer jackknifed on a bridge near Xenia.The state trooper who came to my door at eleven-thirty that night had a little girl of his own. I could tell by the way he looked past me, into the living room, where Kevin was asleep on the couch under my afghan with a coloring book on his chest.