When I was little, I would go to my parents’ room in the middle of the night, every night. Finally one night, my mom told me to go back to bed. My response to that was, “But mommy, I don’t want to play”. I then told her of the little girl who would stand at the end of my bed, holding a little boy’s hand, both wanting me to play. Clearly I was allowed to stay.

Later on at a family party, I saw a photograph. It was of the little girl who’d come to my room. I took it to my mom and everyone kind of flipped because it was a family member who’d died at age 5 of tuberculosis decades before.