Three nights before my son died, he made me promise to protect a secret from his ten-year-old daughter. Nine years later, she dug it up from beneath my oak tree and carried it into my kitchen. “Grandma,” she said, setting the muddy box between us, “you need to explain everything.”The last normal day we ever spent together as a family, my son, Caleb, was on a ladder fixing the porch light.Maddie stood at the bottom of the steps, clutching her recital papers. “Dad, you promised you’d help me practice. Ms. Jensen says the back row needs to feel my voice.”

Caleb grinned down at her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Bug.”He climbed down, tapped her nose, and chased her into the house while she squealed.Three weeks later, we were sitting in a hospital room, and the world stopped being perfect.The doctor spoke carefully. “… aggressive brain tumor.” Then he hit us with the word that ended everything. “Inoperable.””How long do I have?” Caleb asked.The doctor hesitated. “Months.”I reached over and grabbed Caleb’s hand. It seemed impossible that something inside him was taking him away, piece by piece, while I was still holding on.In the parking lot afterward, Caleb leaned against my car and closed his eyes.”I promised I’d be there for Maddie’s recital next month.””You will be,” I said quickly, and hoped it was true.