Let this young gentleman, who clearly knows what his best life looks like, guide your choices over the next few days. I have loved you all.

My grandmother, known in some circles as “Momma,” called from her cell phone at nine o’clock one Saturday night in late October, 2011. An eerie snow was falling. I was basking in the lazy glow of a House Hunters International marathon and screw-top Pinot Grigio, surfing Craigslist sublets in exotic cities far from our Connecticut farm. “How you doin’, kid?” she asked. “Pretty good,” I said. My parents were out of town. The dogs were…