“That’s not how I wanted him to be remembered…”

“But that’s why you wrote the book.  When I watch you on the news I think of the part of your memoir when tell the story about Tom going out in the backyard picking wildflowers for you.”

I smiled, because my son was five again, covered in mud, with the brightest smile ever.  “Tom was so upset when I threw them out…he didn’t realize that they were weeds…not flowers.”

Joe grinned.  “And that’s what the public will remember, the boy he was, and the man he should have been.”

“For now.”  I sighed.  “Then some celebrity will take a topless selfie and everyone will forget about Tom.”

“...

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