![]() “We were probably co-dependent,” Amy said with a smile, recalling the memories of her mother. They often sat on Susan’s deck drinking a glass of wine and sharing stories and laughs. Susan Jordan had a gate put in her chainlink fence so Kat could sprint through when she saw her grandmother’s lights turn on when she got home from work.Īmy used that gate, too, as their relationship transformed from mother-daughter to a close friendship. The house Amy shared with her husband, Will, and daughter, Kat, and son, Wilkes, sat just beyond the backyard of her mother’s house, where Amy and her older sister, Lisa, grew up in the Devonshire V neighborhood on the northeast side. 26, 2016, Dinwiddie could always count on her mother being there for her. ![]() ![]() “You realize how quickly something happens,” Dinwiddie said. ![]() The image of something so ordinary and familiar still sticks with her more than seven years after a day that marked the end of one life for Amy and the beginning of something different. Amy Dinwiddie still remembers her mom’s coffee cup in the sink. ![]()
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