Before my 19-year-old son di3d, he donated his heart to an 18-year-old girl — after the transplant, her mother handed me a letter from my son that began, “Mom, there’s something you need to know about her.”

“I have consultants who don’t prepare like that.”

Where we are.

I did nothing for four months.

I want that in, because everybody assumes there was a scene at the hospital and a reunion and crying. There was not.

I read that letter and then I put it in a drawer and I did not contact Katrin or Lena at all from the March until the July.

I was not angry with them. I was not anything. I could not work out what I was allowed to feel about a girl who had my husband’s face and my son’s heart.

And then in the July, Katrin wrote to me.

One page. She said Lena had asked about me every week since the transplant and she had told her to wait, and she was still telling her to wait, and she would go on telling her to wait for as long as I needed.