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”
A home.
Caleb’s journals remain in a cabinet.
I do not read them often now.
There was a time I read them every week because I was afraid forgetting one sentence meant losing him.
Then I realized memory does not disappear because you stop inventorying it.
I still know his laugh.
The way he said:
Mom
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