Loss can be isolating but for my dad and me, sharing a tragedy brought us closer together. He is my rock and I am his. He even predicted I’d go to Harvard — well, sort of. In freshman year of high school, our families wrote letters to our future selves. When we read them four years later, the note from my dad said, “Who knows where you’ll be when you read this. Maybe you’ll go to Holy Cross,” his alma mater, “or maybe you’ll be off to Harvard.” I’m not sure how serious he was about it — I’m from Massachusetts, where everyone grows up “wanting to go to Harvard.” (I’m sure that’s where my dad found inspiration for his prediction.) As I got older and realized just how selective Harvard is, I set my sights more broadly on getting into an Ivy League or a top 20 school to protect myself from disappointment. But deep down, I’d had an affinity for Harvard ever since I was a freshman.