His parents might not be here anymore, but he finds the smallest ways to acknowledge them, unlike me, who can’t visit my father’s garden without crying. My mom’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Your father never missed a single Friday.” Lorenzo dips his head in silent acknowledgment, and I’m overwhelmed by the urge to pull him into a hug, although I hesitate after everything he has done and said to me. Comforting someone else comes naturally to me, but comforting him…it feels like an instinct I hate to ignore.
