The Young Man He Became
Eighteen years passed faster than I could have imagined. Leo grew into an intelligent, compassionate, and funny young man. He helped elderly neighbors carry groceries, volunteered at an animal shelter, and tutored younger students in math. And somewhere along the way, he inherited Andrew’s habit of tapping a pencil when he was nervous.
The first time I noticed it, Leo was twelve and preparing for a school presentation. The sound sent me straight back to our English classroom, and I had to leave the room to catch my breath. Leo never knew why.
At his high school graduation, my parents and I sat in the auditorium. My father’s hair was white now, and my mother walked with a cane — but when Leo’s name was called, they both stood. So did I. Watching him cross the stage, I remembered my own graduation: young, terrified, holding a newborn. Now that baby was walking toward his future with honors around his neck. I cried so hard my mother handed me an entire pack of tissues.
Afterward, Leo hugged me. “We did it, Mom.”
“You did it,” I said.
“No,” he replied. “We did.”
But soon after, his questions about Andrew grew more frequent: Was he still alive? Did he have other children? Did he ever think about us?
I answered honestly: “I don’t know.”
And apparently, that answer was no longer enough.
