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”
Was Maya smiling too much?
Was Sarah saying Caleb’s name enough?
Grief became performance.
So we stopped.
I visit Caleb.
Maya celebrates privately.
Later we meet if we want.
No forced symbolism.
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