Dear Peter,

I knew you were good the first time I saw you. I had yet to meet you, but I saw your eyes, dark and true and they told me you were good. 

We were babies with college degrees when we walked the aisle together-this evidenced by the fact we had chosen both board games and fine china on our gift registry. We thought we were clever and knew everything and we were ready for life and what we thought it would give us. Then we had four children before we knew what hit us and not all at once, we realized that our days wouldn’t always be what we planned and our futures aren’t always able to be chosen. We knew there would be bumps in the road but not scars to bear and we didn’t know we’d need Grace on top of Grace to make it. But we promised each other a lifetime in blind and limited faith and I’m so grateful we did. 

As Emmy’s mom, I am surrounded by cheerleaders-high fiving my efforts for her and spurring me on when it gets hard. I’m applauded for my work and have a vast support system to share the burden of uncertainty and the joy of accomplishment with. I need them and they make this journey sweet. 

But you love Emmy and our other children quietly. Endlessly. Constantly. Even when no one cheers you on. You pick up where I come up short and you take the baton when I’m weary and cranky and “just can’t take it anymore!”. You are steadfast when I ride the roller coaster of emotions from one extreme to the other and you make time for playing and movies even when I’m convinced there’s no room for that in our days. You are trustworthy and loyal to us and you work endlessly to provide for us-without applause, without recognition, often without any praise. You remind me that there is quiet time left for just us-because we were us before we had them and remembering each other is to be kept sacred. 

We haven’t seen the only or last challenge life will throw at us, but I feel hope more surely now because of you beside me. My sight for Emmy’s future is in the days that are just ahead but you are the one who dreams for her. When I only plan for the minimum, you remind me it can be much more fun than that. You fill in the color to the black and white I lay down. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is that you are good.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love you. 




Photo Credit: Lindsay McIntire

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