“When my grandma passed away, my Mom wrote a letter to us kids. Though it has been more than ten years, I always kept that letter, and the memories it contains.”

Dear Kids,

I love you all. I’m at Mama’s. Yesterday, Monday, was her memorial. She passed on early Friday morning, and I drove down that day.

Saturday morning we went to see Mama. I didn’t think I could do it but your aunt wanted to make sure her makeup was right. Mama looked so pretty, so beautiful. She looked so peaceful. She had a faint little smile on her face and her eyes always smiled—even in death. You know how she’d sit on the couch asleep and we’d say, “Mama why don’t you go lay down?” and she’d say, “I’m just resting my eyes.” She looked just like that.

The next day we were at the funeral home to greet people. That’s when I cried—mama’s sisters look so much like her. Aunt Betty told me that last time she saw Mama, she asked Mama to give Uncle Steve a kiss when she sees him. The last time I saw Mama, I asked her to give Jesus a kiss for me. Continue Reading

In a series of letters to my unborn son, starting with “Love Letters“, I think back on how hard growing up can be, and wonder how to watch a beloved child grow so quickly while also pondering one of the mysteries of the universe: “Why are adolescent boys comparable to chipmunks on uppers”?

Dear Griffin:

As I strolled into our small town grocery store the other day I was beset by a cacophony of high pitched giggles and the squeak of dirty sneakers on fresh linoleum. Had our tiny shopping center been beset by a plague of hormone-ridden, “Twilight” obsessed, girl’s basketball teams? Peering around the corner and into the chip aisle though my worst fears were confirmed, those Alvin and the Chipmunks chitters were coming from the most hair-raising of creatures, pre-pubescent boys. Continue Reading

Dear Griffin:

For many people, a baby isn’t a person until he’s out in the fresh air, seeing the world with new eyes and growing like a weed, in so many ways. But to me, I can already sense that you are a person, even though we are quite literally joined at the hip and you experience everything from your father’s voice, to the sunshine, to your Mom’s favorite song, “Bohemian Rhapsody” through the muffled filter of the womb. Continue Reading