My 17-Year-Old Son Shaved His Head for His Sick Girlfriend—The Next Day, Her Mother Called Me and Said, “You Need to Come to the Hospital”

and the kind who wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for someone being picked on. He was my heart, walking around outside of my body.

“They’re on the second shelf, where they always are,” I replied, suppressing a smile. “And who eats four granola bars, Aaron? That’s not a snack; that’s a meal.”

“Lily likes the chocolate ones. The hospital food is awful, Mom.continue reading …