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”

“So do I.”

“He snored.”

She laughed.

“He hated tomatoes but ate ketchup.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I told him that for twenty years.”

Then I added:

“He was also very good at avoiding conversations he didn’t want.”