Samson Mortensen
You always knew me better than I knew myself.
On those long drives down to California, I’d be knocked out in the back seat, and you’d wake me up just to see Lake Shasta.
Not because it was a big deal. Just because you knew I’d want to see it.
You knew what I’d remember.
You knew what would matter to me later.
You loved me like that—quietly, deeply, without needing credit.
I didn’t ask. I didn’t even know to ask.
But you did.
And I still think about that moment.
Still grateful. Still carrying it.
