Holding on to the photograph of Peter, my late son, I contemplated the life he could have lived if he were still here with us. Peter was a lively young man, brimming with dreams and aspirations, until a drunk driver tragically ended his journey.

Peter’s mother and I got divorced when he was 12. She remarried two years later, and I did too when Peter was 16.

After our divorce, Peter lived with me. His mom wanted to take time to bond with her stepson, Ryan.

During one summer he spent with them, he confided that his mom and her new family maintained an emotional distance. He wished not to spend another day in that environment, although he did keep in touch occasionally.

Peter had a passion for drawing, especially sketching. His ambition was to attend Yale, and the photograph I held was taken just a day before his acceptance into the university.

As I reminisced about happier times and cherished conversations with my son, I heard a knock on my door.

It was Susan, my ex-wife. She mentioned she needed to discuss something important with me.

We hadn’t really spoken much since our separation, except regarding Peter, and now that he was gone, I couldn’t fathom what she needed to discuss.

Showing a boldness that made me question my own grief, she brought up the fund I had saved for Peter. She was right; I had set up a 529 Plan for his educational pursuits.

“Since Peter is no longer with us, perhaps we can use that money for Ryan’s college education. My husband, Jerry, thinks it would be a sensible decision,” she proposed.

I was taken aback. “Use Peter’s savings that I’ve set aside for years for someone he barely knew? You must be joking,” I responded incredulously.

“Please try to understand, Ryan is part of the family too,” she insisted.

“What family, Susan? Peter met Ryan only a few times,” I retorted, anger rising in my voice. “And don’t you recall when Peter overheard Jerry saying Peter wasn’t his responsibility? Now you want to use his funds for someone else?”

She attempted to persuade me that Peter would have wanted this, but I knew my son well enough to understand that he wouldn’t have agreed.

I asked Susan to leave my house.

The next day, I decided to fulfill one of Peter’s dreams by booking a trip to Belgium, a country he longed to visit. Strolling through the streets, admiring the museums, and experiencing the renowned “beer monks,” I carried his photo with me, feeling his presence at every turn.

Upon returning, I invested the remaining funds into establishing a foundation dedicated to nurturing young artists like Peter.

This way, I believed I truly honored my son’s memory and legacy.