Craig, I’ve been thinking a great deal lately about what carries us forward, what stands the test of time, what ENDURES—through seasons, changes, silence, and even long stretches of not knowing. Sometimes, what endures is something as small as the memory of arms holding you as a baby, or as vast as the wish for a message in reply.
You are ever present on my mind.
Recently, my Mom, your grandmother, handed me a letter to give to you. Since I only can guess that you are in Pittsburgh, still at school, and I have no physical address for you, I chose to share this letter with you on your website. The letter, I think, speaks for itself.
In reading this letter, addressed to YOU, I was struck again by the steady current of love that runs through your grandmother’s words: How Gomma, remembers you as a newborn, cradling you with pride and tender hope. Even at a distance, and with so many years passed by, the essence of family is never out of reach; it waits in anticipation, quietly, every day. I could not help but reflect on Jesus’s words in Mathew 6:26.
The years bring changes, sometimes questions, but not much erases the bonds that made us cheer at your first steps or root for you through every new beginning. I’ve written you so many messages here: about crisp mornings, birthday milestones, the origin of our name, and what I hoped, and still do, is that you’d glean from my own stumbles and joys. Everywhere, there’s a thread of wishing you know you are loved—today, right now, and just as steadfastly as ever.
This note, like those before it, is another small bridge. You may cross it if and when you wish. What you may not always see is how many hearts stand quietly on the shores, keeping watch, holding out hope, inviting you to share news of your world whenever and however you can.
If you ever want to write back, to share how you’re doing, or even just to say you got the message—we’d all be glad for that sign. But whether you do or don’t, know that the channel is open, the welcome is ongoing, and you’re carried with us through every season.
The letter to you (see below), is in your Grandmother’s handwriting (cursive, google it) , which at 87, a 3 time cancer survivor and a warrior for FAMILY in every respect, was a treasure in my opinion and I hope you feel the same, if not now, perhaps in the future.
The song I chose for this blog post is from an album your grandmother sent your Mom and I when you were first born in June 2003.
It is clear, or should at least not be a “surprise” at this point, that your Dad loves what you likely would call “old” or even “ancient” music. Linda Rondstadt, was a towering voice in the mid 1970’s Laurel Canyon music scene and I have such amazing memories of both your Mom and I rocking you to sleep to this song out in the Piedmont section of the Blue Ridge in VA.
Love,
Dad
