“When you first told me about the baby, I started thinking a lot more about my mom. Though I didn’t have much in terms of memories, my dad had all these…remnants of her. He kept everything. So every time I needed a piece of my mom, I knew I could go to him, and he’d show me something new.” Bo turns, placing his knee on the couch to face me. “He had this box under his bed filled with photos, jewelry. Things as insignificant as buttons that had fallen off her coat or pennies she’d picked up off the street. All of Mom’s notebooks filled with music she’d written…journals, notes, letters…” Bo says,
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