Weeks after we lost our son, his teacher called and said, “Ma’am, your son left something for you. Please come to the school immediately,” I felt the world stop all over again.

At that moment, I was sitting alone in Owen’s bedroom, clutching one of his old T-shirts against my chest like it could somehow keep me connected to him. The faint scent of laundry detergent and cedar shampoo still lingered in the fabric, and for a second I could almost pretend he was still downstairs asking what was for dinner.