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”

Another:

Maya has three memories of him. I have thousands. It feels unfair to say anything good about him around her, but she keeps asking.

Then:

I told her he burned pancakes every Sunday and blamed the pan. She laughed.

I put the journal down.

Richard’s good qualities were not compensation.

Still part of Maya’s missing history.

Caleb had shared them carefully.

One afternoon: