Your old college friend Mariko died three weeks ago of ovarian cancer. You lost touch with her fifteen years ago — no fight, just lives. But in college and your twenties you were close. Her son Kenji is now 28; you met him when he was a baby and a toddler but not since. You are mailing him a card — you tracked down his address. You are not trying to become part of his life. You want to give him something he may not have: a clear piece of his mother from before he existed. 120-180 words. Just the card itself, no preamble.