He was my son.

Patrick never seemed able to separate Connor from the son he had imagined before Connor was born.

Patrick grew up in Ohio in a family where football was almost a religion.

His father had coached high school football for years.

Patrick could describe Friday nights from his childhood in perfect detail.

The stadium lights.

The marching band.

The wet smell of the field after rain.

The sound of his father shouting from the sideline.

Before we married, Patrick once told me:

“When we have a boy, I’m teaching him everything Dad taught me.”

At the time, I thought it was sweet.

I pictured Patrick throwing a football with a little boy in our backyard.

Neither of us knew life would look different.