Sometimes I wonder if we buried the wrong person that day, I never saw the coffin myself, I never saw your body inside of it, I never saw that you died. All I saw was your hospital bed exiting your room from afar, I didn’t come closer, I stopped being close to you years ago. Right when I realized who you were, even if I didn’t know the full extent of it at that age. But I knew that you must’ve died, if you hadn’t died my life would’ve been different. I wouldn’t have the mother I have now if you hadn’t died that day.

The eulogist that day — I had never seen him before, and I wondered if he truly knew you — made me think I had...