Dear Abram
Dear Abram I am writing this in the soft gentle glow of our Christmas tree, your tiny footprints among the needles and lights, the salt dough handprints of your sisters and cousins, the season of songs, nostalgia and giving. This is not how I imagined writing to you a year after you were born. It’s supposed to be Springtime, with photos of first outings and stroller rides, chubby legs and cheerios, milestones and the many days in between of raising 3 kids. Sometimes I imagine what you’d look like; how you’d sleep; the girls holding you uncomfortably. I imagine you growing up. In my mind, you’re fast, and you love bikes and basketball and math. I imagine you are sweet and stubborn and soft hearted, like your dad and your older sisters. I could fill pages on every specific thing I wish we had with you, a thousand notebooks on what I’d pictured in our lives for you and with you. Some moments still surprise me. Family and a few friends came over the day after Thanksgiving to g...