Justin flew to Northern California after the funeral, took one last exam and drove down immediately to stay me. He had just finished his bachelor’s degree. His beautiful fiancee, Nga, flew down from San Jose on weekends to be with us. Jonathan was living in a beach house on Balboa Island with a bunch of young men, all starting their careers after grad school. Outwardly, the boys looked like they were coping, but I knew their world had crashed. They were very close to their Dad, a man they loved dearly and looked up to with pride.

There were visits from friends, relatives, neighbors. The refrigerator had enough casseroles to last three months.

Days, then a few weeks went by. I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid if I closed my eyes the nightmares would come.

“Do you trust me, Mom?” Justin reminded me of my hippie days in Greenwich Village. It’s amazing that tied-dyed shirts and long hair hadn’t skipped a generation.