The day Bryce died, I remember with perfect clarity the horror I felt when someone suggested I take a shower.
My shirt still had his spit up on it. There was a dried patch on the shoulder where he had drooled as he slept. It still smelled like him.
I knew all too well in that moment that my tangible flesh and blood memories of him were going to be fleeting. His little life was just a breath really, a summer’s worth of living. Try to remember every detail of your last summer. All the days. The smells, the sights, the sounds, the encounters, the feelings.… Read the rest!