The Seat They Stole From My Son’s Mother

That morning, before the ceremony, Michael had hugged me in the parking lot.

“Mom,” he had said with a grin, “second row. Best seats in the house.”

I remembered laughing.

“You make it sound like a concert.”

“It kind of is.”

Then he hugged me again.

“Don’t be late.”

At the time, I thought he was nervous.

I didn’t realize he already knew something was coming.

Now those seats were occupied.