After my mom returned home from major heart surgery, my eight-year-old son began sleeping outside her bedroom door every single night. I assumed he was frightened that she might suddenly get sick again. Then, at 4 a.m., I heard what he was quietly whispering to himself.

My eight-year-old son, Tyler, had always been closer to my mother than almost anyone else in our family.

When Tyler was younger and I was raising him on my own, Mom stepped in wherever my work schedule left a gap. She packed his lunches whenever I had early shifts, helped him prepare for spelling tests, sat through his school concerts, and somehow managed to remember every strange little thing that mattered to him.

So when her heart condition suddenly became worse this year, Tyler took it especially hard.

The surgery itself went well, but her recovery was much slower than anyone had expected.