A Place Closer to Mattie

"Ms. Stepanek!" crows the deep voice of a stranger standing next to her. "I recognized you. I really enjoyed Mattie from Oprah."

Jeni looks up. The man is tall and carries three plastic bags on each arm, and a pouch hangs around his neck. His name is Armando Franklin, he says. He is homeless and lives in the District.

"I enjoyed him extremely," he continues, beaming at Mattie's mom.

"Oh," she answers as the light changes and the walk sign flashes. "It's nice to hear his name. Thank you."

Once inside the convention center, Jeni Stepanek and Mattie's service dog, Micah, veer through the crowds. People murmur, "That's Mattie Stepanek's mom." They line up to have their books autographed.

"To Rabbi Zinkow," says a woman from Ohio, asking for a special inscription. "To Zahir, my daughter, and Alim," says another.

Jeni is an introvert by nature; Mattie was the one who knew how to connect with people. Almost by rote, she asks each parent the same thing: How old is your child?

When a young woman from the Borders in Hagerstown arrives, Jeni suddenly lights up. The Borders in Hagerstown! she cries. Mattie spoke there!

The woman draws a blank but Jeni chatters on, reveling inside this memory as the line beyond her stalls.

Thank you, the woman finally says, seeming eager to move on, and Jeni nods, then quietly resumes inscribing the stack of books, writing things like, "Believe!" and "Peace is possible!"

After each exhortation, she signs herself: "Jeni, 'Mattie's Mom.' "

Becoming Roommates

Sandy Newcomb is a no-nonsense 51-year-old woman with strawberry blond hair, Jeni's dearest friend, the one who moved next door to help care for Mattie two years before he died. She met the Stepaneks when Jamie was on life support. The families became fast friends.