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”
Too big.
Too expensive.
Too many stairs.
My new place has large windows and one wall devoted to art.
Caleb’s drawings.
Maya’s Nineteen.
A ridiculous painting I bought at a street fair because it made me laugh.
No shrine.
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