Lucas had written to me despite believing I would never read them.
The first letter began:
My little moon, today you turned four. Somewhere beyond these walls, I hope someone told you that you were brave.
I could not continue.
I sat on the floor and held the stack against my chest.
Lucas watched me.
“I didn’t know what your life became,” he said. “So I imagined every possibility.”
“I became a hospice volunteer.”
A faint smile touched his face.
“Of course you did.”
“What does that mean?”
“You were always trying to take care of everyone. Even when you were two.”
I laughed through tears.
“We’ll have to compare stories.”
“I have thirty-one years of them prepared.”
Later that evening, doctors transported Lucas to a hospital for evaluation. Evelyn refused to leave his side, so the nurse went with them.
Before the ambulance doors closed, Lucas reached for me.
