When I opened the door to find him on the other side, he had a look of pure agony in his eyes. His whole body had shook as he’d walked into the room after me. It only stopped shaking after I took his hand in mine and tried to give him a physical reminder that he isn’t alone. “I can’t get it out of my head,” he admits hoarsely. He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to remove the memory of his mom from his mind. “All I can see when I close my eyes is…her. In a way that no child should have to remember their parent.”
