Without a phone or tablet, I wrote letters to Tyler every day from the nursing home asking him to visit me. Not once did I get a response or a visit.

After two years in the nursing home, I lost any hope of anyone coming. “Please, take me home,” I would pray every night, but after two years, I tried to convince myself not to get my hopes up anymore.

One day, however, I was surprised to find out from my nurse that a man in his forties was at the counter, looking for me. “Did my son finally come to visit?” I said, getting my walker quickly before making my way to the front.