Holding on to the photograph of Peter, my late son, I wondered what life would have been like had he still been alive. He was a vibrant young man, full of dreams and aspirations. And then, his life was cut short by a drunk driver.

Peter’s mom and I were divorced. We separated when he was 12. She remarried two years later, and I did when Peter was 16.

Following the divorce, he stayed with me. His mom on the other hand anted to take her time in order to bond with her stepson, Ryan.

Peter only spent one single summer with them, but later confide in me that his mom and her new family kept an emotional distance. He never liked to spend another day with them, although he was in contact and saw them every now and then.

Peter was into drawing, especially doing sketches, and his dream was attending Yale. That photograph of him I clutched to was taken a day prior to his acceptance in the prestigious university.

It was Susan, my ex. She said she needed to talk to me about something important.

She and I hadn’t really talked following our separation, except about Peter, and now that he was gone, I couldn’t possibly think of a common topic that she and I could discuss.

Showing audacity that made me question if grief had clouded my judgment, she said she knew I had a fund for Peter. She was right, I had a 529 Plan set up for him. As long as he went for post-secondary education, he could use the money for anything.

“You know, now that Peter is gone, we could use that money for my stepson’s education, my husband Jerry also believes that would be the best decision.”

I couldn’t believe what I heard. “Use Peter’s money that I had saved all those years for someone my son barely knew? You have to be insane,” I said.

“Please don’t act this way. Ryan is part of the family as well,” she said. “What family, Susan, Peter only met your stepson Ryan a handful of times.”

With anger in my voice, I said, “Don’t you remember that summer Peter spent with you and your new family? He once overheard Jerry saying Peter wasn’t his responsibility, and you ask to use his money for someone else?”

She tried to convince me it would be what Peter would want, but I knew my late son all too well, and it definitely wasn’t something he would want me to do.

I told Susan to leave my house.

The following day, I booked a trip to Belgium, the country Peter dreamed of visiting one day. As I walked the streets and visited the museums, including the “beer monks” he was fascinated with. I had his photograph in my pocket and felt his spirit everywhere I went.

When I returned, I used the rest of the money to start a foundation that would help young artists like Peter.

This way, I knew I honored Peter and his legacy.

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