I’m 40, a single mom to two kids. My son Caleb, 12, lost his best friend Louis to cancer last year. They were inseparable—Little League teammates, weekend sleepovers, matching Halloween costumes. After the funeral, Caleb shut himself in his room, clutching Louis’s old baseball glove. He barely spoke for weeks, therapy helping only a little. Then one night, he said, “Mom, Louis deserves a headstone. And a night where everyone can remember him.” His idea was beautiful, and so him.