Before My 19-Year-Old Son Died, He Donated His Heart to an 18-Year-Old Girl—Then Her Mother Handed Me a Letter: “Mom, There’s Something You Need to Know About Her”
He was dying.
He watched me sleep in a hospital chair.
Watched me sell things.
Watched me call doctors.
He believed giving me another reason to grieve would be cruel.
I can disagree without condemning him.
That distinction helped me love him honestly.
Caleb did not need perfection to remain precious.