Project Gratitude 2018 in Review

Dear Reader,

I’m happy to announce that Project Gratitude 2018 has been a smashing success! A worthwhile exercise in thankfulness, remembrance, and writing. Two copies of In Verse now exist in book form (proofs) and I’m more than halfway through putting the finishing touches on the final first edition. The best way to track its trajectory between now and its Amazonian debut is by following this Facebook page. I hope to have the book on the market by the end of January. An E-Reader edition should follow shortly and, maybe - just maybe - eventually an audio version. As a frequent mumbler, dictating the book could serve as a good personal exercise in enunciation.

I didn’t expect or receive a response from everyone who got a letter from me in 2018 but, when I did, that served to confirm mailing addresses, which will make it easier for me to confidently order their promised copy of my novel. I'm putting the list here to track who’s copy has been sent, and who I would like verification from.

Several responses to letters last year were immensely gratifying. There was the indirect compliment on my writing from none other than Ray Stevens [ raystevens.com ] via Cyrus "Buddy" Kalb, the lyricist who penned Mississippi Squirrel Revival, one of my all-time favorite Ray Stevens ballads:

And then there was a touching letter in reply from my best friend from high school, David, who I hadn’t talked to in almost 20 years. It lead to a reunion at Martin House Brewing in Ft. Worth a couple of weeks before Christmas. We found that our careers bring us both to DFW on a regular basis, so I’m sure we'll be catching up more frequently going-forward.

The MVR (Most Valuable Reader) award goes to Steve Dymale, who’s encouraging feedback on many posts, via email and happy hour sessions (sometimes followed-up by the ravenous consumption of Pizza Dan’s house pie at Peel and Press) really helped keep me motivated last year.

The cadence of posts here at One Face in the Crowd will be dropping now that the letter-posting portion of Project Gratitude 2018 is completed, but I’m sure there will be a number of short stories and essays popping up over the course of 2019. Much of my focus will be shifting back to digital art this year, as I’ve revived Artiquitous.com, and poetry on Eclectic Scribe.  I would be honored if you consider subscribing to my work in those arenas.

As always, thank you for reading!

-Daniel

God

~~~~~~~~

Dear God,

No pun intended . . . but you knew that. You and I go way back—all the way back to the big bang. With a masterful one-hand clap, there I was—a mess of unconscious scattered particles, yet to be assembled by time, gravity, chemical reactions, and a chain of unrealized trysts and love stories. I don’t know if you hunkered down over a drafting board to sketch out concepts for birds of paradise, or just propped your proverbial boots up for thirteen-billion years to watch what you set in motion unfold, but it sure turned out interesting. Thank you for the colorful diversity of life on Earth and our capacity to relish it.

The biblical worldview through which I grew up to understand you was predominantly literal. The Bible I read may well have dropped from the sky as Jesus ascended, my name etched into the leather, dictated by you and typed out in the King’s English by Gabriel himself. The versions generally accepted by Bible Belt Protestantism I’m familiar with included the KJV [some folks I know would stop the list right there], NKJV, NLT, ASV, NIV, and ESV. The edgiest evangelicals would even dare read Eugene Peterson’s controversial modern translation The Message.

I've learned a lot about the origins of the good book over the last ten years. English translations of the Bible have been around less than half as long as Christianity itself. For a long time literacy was a luxury of the elite. Hand-scribed books were prohibitively expensive. Full-time priests handled replication, digestion, interpretation, and distribution of scripture. Then the printing press came along, with the protestant reformation hot on its heels. The ability to read became an increasingly important life-skill as information increasingly went to the press. The mystic anthology grew cheaper and more available to the common man.

Dather

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November 6, 2018

Dear *Dather,

In the earliest memory of you that I can recall, I have one foot on your head and another on your shoulder. You’re sitting on the floor in the kitchen, leaning against the knotty pine cabinetry, and I’m balanced on you, leaning over the countertop, transferring dirty dishwater with a ladle from one container to another in the kitchen sink. It felt deceptively industrious and productive at the time. Maybe that’s why the memory stuck.

Before I started fighting boredom and loneliness with cheese and morphed into a 220lb Bobby Hill doppelgänger by the age of 12, there were all of the fun acrobatics we would attempt in the name of Vincent Morales. We latched on to that name when going to an actual circus, but he must have never achieved celebrity status . . . I can’t find him on Google. Balancing our bodies on your socked feet, Katy and I would soar like birds. You’d grab our shoulders and, with a kick, we’d somersault over your head and land on our feet.

I still remember when you took me to my first movie in a theater. It came out in 1988, so I was 7 years old. Unfortunately it wasn’t the kid-friendly flick you’d imagined. Watching Judge Doom subject the poor little squeaky-shoe toon to the “dip” in Who Framed Roger Rabbit gave me nightmares for weeks. You must have also suffered a bit of PTSD, as that first movie you took me to was also the last I can recall watching with you in a theater. The strongest emotions, positive or negative, seem the best at making memories stick.

Steve

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 17, 2018

Dear Steve,

I’ve been picking up the cadence when it comes to letter-writing so I can clear the board for novel-formatting in November. There are actually only three people left in my list of 52 to write for Project Gratitude 2018 – you, my father, and God. As much as I’d like to say it was because I was putting all the women before old white men, that’s just not the case.

You were on my list from the beginning precisely because, over as many pints we’ve quaffed together over the last 6 years, you’ve probably come to understand better than any other unrelated human on Earth why the last two letters to the earthly and heavenly fathers will challenge me the most. I’ve only put off writing yours to give me something fun to look forward to all year . . . and maybe to make you squirm a little.

It started in the Dymales’ living room in early 2013 with what I like to call the smirk of understanding. I was masking sarcasm with Sunday School verbiage before our new home group when your eyes lit up and you cracked that wry grin. It happens when your bullshit detector gets triggered—and sometimes when you’re enduring the status quo for the sake of civility. I knew, right then, that a like-mind just read between the lines. You heard me loud and clear.

Dear Reader (An Overdue Update)

Dear Reader,


I really buckled down on letters in October and November. I was even behind on posting them for a little while. Since catching up, I've been releasing them here, one each week, in the order they were written and mailed. I apologize if you've had to wait for weeks to find your letter here, and finally make sense of what I scrawled out by hand.

Finishing up on letters allowed me to buckle down on the novel. I completed the final in-depth editing and formatting pass, designed the cover, figured out all of the hullabaloo that comes with the copyright and ISBN info page, and racked my brain for way too long over all of the self publishing avenues and options available.

I ultimately chose Kindle Direct Publishing to get the paperback into tangible form, ordered two proofs, and it escaped the world of screens and drives. It's a real book! I must say, it feels really good. I added a few pictures to the novel's dedicated page so you can see the current cover design.

There is still a lot of work to do. With Jenn's help I'll be undergoing a read-through of the proofs, and make the final final edits before taking the book to market. I hope to have it available to download to E-readers, as well as old-school paperback. Then there's getting noticed. I've always been better at writing than marketing, but in today's market you have to be proficient at both in order to rise above the thatch.

Lastly, if you are one of the recipients who I haven't directly spoken to in years, and you haven't touched base since receiving your letter, I would greatly appreciate it if you could make contact, just to confirm that I have your correct address. I don't want to buy you a copy if I'm not sure it will find you. I'm sure you understand.

As always, thank you,

Daniel

Susan W.

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October 17, 2018

Dear Susan,

It’s pretty ironic that the first time I ever saw a drag queen it was through the window of a church van that took a wrong turn and sputtered into Deep Ellum—150 miles from its rural home port in Marietta, TX. My jaw dropped a quarter-mile. Was that a man in a dress, or a woman with a beard? The van would break down a few blocks later and the youth were promptly armed with tire irons. The next 15 minutes of tension could have been a suspenseful pre-massacre scene from Night of the Living Dead. Of course we all lived to tell the tale.

Twenty-something years later, I live in the Seattle area and work in Dallas most weeks. I stay in AirBnBs instead of hotels, sometimes right in the heart of Deep Ellum. Hipsters abound in the artsy atmosphere. Their fashion sense can be quite prissy, but I don’t see many full-on bears in heels. I don’t know what’s changed more since the SBC inadvertently rolled a band of impressionable youth through what was then considered the coronary artery of the heart of darkness—Deep Ellum, or me. But that will always be a fun story in hindsight.

I’m writing to thank you, though, for another memory that has endured the test of time. Even before my family changed churches to attend Oakridge Baptist full-time, my sister and I would attend Vacation Bible School there, just down the street from our house, in the summers. The earliest, most vivid introduction to contagious joy that I can remember came from you, behind a keyboard, leading our little music sessions.

You can’t get to heaven on roller skates
Because you’ll roll right past those pearly gates.

You can’t get to heaven in a putt-putt car
‘Cause a putt-putt car don’t putt that far.

What couldn’t help me gain admission was more evident than how to acquire the golden ticket at that point. It would be a few years before Randy Fair showed up to put on that chalk-sketch revival. It wasn’t until then, at the age of 7, that the power of grace and the significance of the ultimate sacrifice sank in deep enough to motivate me to walk down the aisle and get dunked. But you were one of the first people I knew in whom the joy of the Lord was so evident that it made me want whatever it was in your heart that put such a smile on your face and sparkle in your eye. Thank you for sharing the love with me and the other kiddos during your time in Marietta.

Sincerely,

Daniel

Mr. Rowe

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October 16, 2018

Dear Mr. Rowe,

I won’t bore you with another rehash of my wonder years. They were detailed in my letter to Ms. DeJésus and that’s available on my blog to read at your leisure if interested. But I do want to personally thank you for your voluntary involvement in my life during my 7^th - 8^th grade stint at Thomas Jefferson School.

My memory may be failing me, but I don’t recall taking any of your classes. I took Latin under Mr. Colston and, if I’d stayed at TJ, your Greek would have been next. I’m ashamed to admit it, but the intimidation of learning a new alphabet on top of a new language might have played a minor role in my personal decision to high-tail it back to Texas for 9^th grade. Spanish there was a breeze after Latin.

You weren’t my advisor, either, but something compelled you to reach out and do some shepherding during that period. I remember you taking me birding on a couple of occasions, offering a refreshing escape from my everyday world, which consisted of the TJ campus and weekend excursions to shopping malls. It was a chance to breathe and think about something other than school work. On top of that, your son introduced me to the peanut butter and American cheese sandwich. Quite a revelation!

I remember you as kind, patient, gentle, and firm at the same time. You had the perfect temperament for a teacher and mentor of youth. Thank you for your investments, large and small, in me and so many others over the course of your career.

Sincerely,

Daniel Loffer

David Brooks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 16, 2018

Dear Mr. Brooks,

Ideological echo chambers abound in the age of the internet. They generate web traffic with headlines that galvanize cognitive bias, but rarely change minds. Humble opinions based on factual evidence and anchored to morality are hard to come by, but a pleasure to read from any point of view.

I appreciate the fact that your reasoning gently ruffles feathers at the narrow minded fringes of the political right and the left, while imploring the practical to stop and think. Thank you for your thoughtful approach to hot-button issues.

Thank you for addressing matters that jeopardize the collective cardiovascular health of our nation and the world with a measure of grace, rather than stoking political fires with an inflammatory tone that only serves to polarize. Please continue to encourage contemplation and understanding over pitchforks and vitriol.

Sincerely,

                                                          

Daniel Loffer

Amber

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 10, 2018

Dear Amber,

In December of 2006 I was Christmas shopping in Tyler. On my way to Best Buy, a big tent in front of the nearby PetSmart full of pups in need of homes got my attention. I fell for a jet-black shepherd mix labeled “Sport,” and adopted him on the spot. “Sport” didn’t really suit my boy, and “Scout” didn’t stick either. By the time Christmas rolled around, he was known as Shadow.

Shadow turned out to be an amazing big brother to my tiny border collie puppy, Daisy, who joined the family shortly after he did. She would nip at his ears or gnaw on his tail and he would just look at me like, are you really going to let her treat me like this? I’d purchased my first home, out in the sticks, shortly before taking on Shadow and Daisy in rapid succession. That made me a single father of two in the middle of nowhere. All of that was great, except for the single part. The rural setting wasn’t ideal for changing the fact—slim pickin’s.

Just a few months after assembling my family of three, an opportunity to relocate to a sales office in Dallas presented itself. I couldn’t pass that up. But a small house on two acres out in Nowhereville cost about as much as the rent for an aging 400 square foot efficiency in the Big D. I couldn’t imagine moving into a space that small with two puppies. I didn’t think the complex would let me keep even one of them at first, so I set out to re-home my babies.

Daisy has a redemption story all her own. But in March of 2006 you agreed to take Shadow, and for that I am eternally grateful. Also, thank you for touching base months ago to let me know that he’d recently passed after a long and happy life under your care. I don’t think circumstances could have worked out any better for him.

Sincerely,

Dan

Mrs. Foster

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 9, 2018

Dear Ms. Foster,

You’ve been aware of my project since your husband got a letter months ago. Having served as a primary shepherd of mine through 3^rd and 4^th grade, I hope you’ve been expecting one. Those were good years, especially relative to those that flanked them.

In 2^nd grade I quickly transformed from cherub to brat when the honor of being dubbed the first “student of the month” went straight to my head. I spent the rest of that year getting the pride beaten out of me. As you know, Mama was my teacher in 5^th and 6^th grade. She was determined to show no indication of favoritism. I was a cheeky lad. Those were hard-knock days. I spent a lot of time in my room.

My allowance at home was a meager fifty cents a week, but in your class I was flush with cash. Ballin’ as they say. The weekly games of Jeopardy that we played on the chalk board, with categories by subject and questions based on recent studies were an ingeniously fun way to reinforce what we learned. That Xeroxed monopoly money was worth far more than the paper it was printed on and, often, the pencils we could spend it on. Subliminal lessons in sociology and economics were abundant.

I wasn’t a very good student when it came to the post-lunch music period in elementary school. However, I do have fond memories of those daily sessions where our entire tiny school practiced together for small-scale musical productions while you played the piano. We really had something special in that. I danced through an auditorium in a white sweat suit with a modified Styrofoam bait bucket on my head as Frosty the Snowman, conducted a high-wire act on a hardwood stage, and went down on the wrong knee before a cabbage patch doll as a nativity scene shepherd. Good thing I wasn’t cast as a “wise-man.”

I still know the words to Rockin’ Robin, Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, Chickory Chick, and many other songs that make me smile on the rare occasion that they surface today. From officiating jeopardy, to making sweet music, to cussing at Jody Crocker – thank you for the memories. But most of all, thank you for your investment in me and all the other kids who were truly blessed by both your care (and wrath J) as Marietta Angels.

Sincerely,

Dan

Rev

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 9, 2018

Dear Rev,

Sometimes I wonder why the most passionate/compassionate pastors I’ve known have worked in construction. Maybe it takes the same propensity for faith-based risk-taking and people skills to be a successful contractor as it does to be an effective spiritual ambassador. Heck, even Jesus was a carpenter! When I watched the documentary about Sam Childers (AKA “The Machine Gun Preacher”) I couldn’t help but think of you.

I’m writing to personally thank you for your fearless leadership and personal investment in humanity—from your work with addicts in recovery at Renovation House, to the establishment and ongoing management of Heather’s Home orphanage. It was a pleasure to get my hands dirty alongside you during the recovery efforts in Joplin following the great tornado in 2011, and to serve as a sidekick during a visit to Haiti.

I miss your inspired, high-octane, straight-from-the-heart delivery of God’s hope for the world in a world where it’s becoming harder and harder to find. Please keep on keeping on, for the sake of us all.

Love,

Daniel

Todd

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 26, 2018

Dear Todd,

It’s been way too long since we’ve seen each other, especially considering the fact that my 1700 mile commute has put me within reach on almost any given Monday-Wednesday for over a year and a half. But even if architectural side-ventures keep you too busy to meet up for the rest of your life, I’m still glad I met you back in 2006 . . . it seems crazy that it was 12 years ago!

I’d just moved to Dallas weeks earlier and didn’t have a single friend in the metroplex when you called me over in the parking lot between The Corners and Corners East apartments in The Village and introduced yourself. I didn’t feel invisible anymore. You proceeded to introduce me to Bob, the most endearing and dirty old man I’ve ever known. Our unlikely trio would share a lot of laughter over the following two years—out in that parking lot, poolside at the VCC, or partaking in dollar-fiddy well night.

I’ve moved a lot since turning 18. I lived in three different apartments, if within the same complex, just while in college. I moved to Brenham for my first job, then Palestine, TX for my second. After buying my first piece of real estate near Grapeland, I only lived there three months before moving to Dallas- into that run down little efficiency, across the way from your 2^nd floor bachelor pad. 

Since leaving Dallas I’ve lived in Maumelle, Arkansas, three addresses in Elmira, NY, then on to the Pacific Northwest – three different addresses in West Seattle before moving to Kirkland just across the lake. We would move back to West Seattle for a year before finally buying a house on Vashon Island. Barring natural disasters, I think I’m done moving around. I haven’t lived at the same address for more than two years since I turned 18. A total of 18 addresses in less than 20 years if you include the short-term stays immediately following long-distance moves.

Needless to say, I’ve had a lot of neighbors. Thankfully, some really great ones at our current, hopefully forever-home. But I’m writing to thank you for being one of the best.

Sincerely,

Dan

Lynn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 17, 2018

Dear Lynn,

I'm sorry that I had to miss half of your recent visit, but my shorter than average weekend with you and Alan was a lot of fun. Thanks for coming to see us on The Rock, and giving us another excuse to play tourist in Seattle. You guys are totally my kind of guests - cocktails, foodie culture, football games, and great conversation with no pressure from Jenn to go tripping down trails for 12+ miles to audit dirt, trees, and rocks.

I do have to admit, Jenn's the best gift you've ever given me - possibly the world. Even better than that citrus stripper that you sneaked back to the gift shop to get for me at Smith Tower. Even if she likes the color of baby poop and long sweaty walks in the middle of nowhere. I'm grateful that I can call you "Mom."

Love,

Daniel

Jeff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 10, 2018

Dear Jeff,

You’ve been on my list since it was compiled late last year, as one of the most appreciated supers I’ve worked for. I was always impressed by the way you graciously oversaw a talent pool in the tensile lab that reliably jumped ship just as it mastered the craft. On the meltshop side, we would always call your office first in a crunch. It was never a surprise to find you there after 6pm. Beyond midnight, your cell was the crisis hotline and rang at an ungodly hour on a frequent basis.

You were not only approachable at all hours, but open to new ideas, and gave us the freedom to put them to the test. When I proposed procedural changes to eliminate redundant manual transcription, you gave me the green flag. I think that eliminated at least an hour of tedium from each shift.

All of that’s just to say thank you for your leadership. It played an integral role in making my years with A-Crew, on shift in the chemistry lab, a very rewarding experience.

Sincerely,

Daniel

The Fredericks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 10, 2018

Dear Mark and Julie,

I just wanted to thank y’all for making the long haul trek all the way from Virginia Beach to the Left Coast to visit us in our natural habitat and get a taste of the PNW. We always end up exploring beyond our day-to-day cattle trails when good company with fresh eyes comes to visit. The odds of me ever giving that crumpet shop in the market a fair shake on my own accord is slim to none – now I want to go back!

It can’t be easy for busy parents of 4 to get away, get that far away, or (for many) to choose to subject themselves to more family when they finally get a chance to get away. Thanks for spending a generous portion of your time free from home and work with us.

Love,

Daniel

(143)

PS – Give the kiddos a hug for me, and bring them next time!

John Kasich

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 29, 2018

Dear Governor Kasich,

I want to thank you for the way you carried yourself during your 2016 presidential campaign and since. In light of John McCain’s passing in the past week, more hopeful, principled advocates for unity have never been more needed than now. It is shameful that legislators in Washington principled enough to rise above groupthink and political tribalism are rare enough to stand out as “mavericks.” We need leaders with balanced perspectives (not to mention term limits) who can motivate Americans to meet in the middle. Compromise has become a dirty word associated with weakness in our polarized political climate. I am grateful for the work you’re doing to change that along with the tone of debate in our country.

I personally couldn’t stomach the idea of helping inject the White House with a vulgar, imbecilic bully in 2016. His opponent was a no-go in light of the policies prepaid for by the sources of her campaign funding. Many who showed up at the polls wrote in candidates, or held their noses as they cast ballots more out of distaste for the opposition than confidence in their choice. Barely 25% voted for our sitting president. I symbolically wrote in your name on Election Day, but many just stayed home. In fact, almost half of America’s eligible voters didn’t even bother. That should be seen as a landslide vote of no-confidence in either party, or the system itself.

Not all Americans are turned on by bluster and empty promises. A fair-minded majority wants a principled leader who offers transparency, diplomacy, honesty, congeniality, humility, and poise. A leader who can still make a difficult decision without alienating or shaming those who disagree. From what I’ve seen, you refuse to get sucked into a shameful sphere of conformity for the sake of power in the short-term, unlike much of the GOP. Thank you for being the antithesis of our sitting president.

Sincerely,

Daniel Loffer

**Fluff that didn't make it into the final draft follows**

Electing a unifier as POTUS poses a monumental challenge. The news media needs ratings to survive, and the sensationalism that lures viewers lies at the extreme ends of the political spectrum, not the center. The day after a debate, the buzz seems more centered around who most creatively “burns” or “slams” opponents, rather than policy positions. Candidates who try to explain things realistically often put people to sleep, while ears perk up to unfounded promises that the candidate wouldn’t have the authority to fulfill on their own if elected. This is why it’s easier to elect a car salesman than an economist.

In Washington, deep stacks of bills that would take months to read are scripted by special interest groups, and then given the green light by legislators whose campaigns were funded by the authors. The tax code is so complicated that those with the most money can afford lawyers to find loopholes and save them millions, while the common man has to pay H&R Block a large chunk of his return just to help navigate the process of filing for one.

America is simply losing faith in our government, the press, and our ability as citizens to affect change for the better. When that happens, it’s easier just to believe what we want to believe when we hear it from a news spinner of our persuasion than to sort out which ideas on both sides of the isle are truly best for our nation and the world in the long-term.

Jennifer

Presented in-flight to our 10th Anniversary vacation.
Redacted in full at her request.

Shannon

*Not mailed, but posted here, because he's in another country. Letter 37 was mailed, and will post next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 25, 2018

Dear Shan-man,

As a friend for around 16 years now, you’ve been on my list since its assembly last year. It was a nice surprise to find you bachin’ it in DFW during my weekly work-stays last year . . . until you chased your outsourced better-half all the way back to China. But let's pedal backward to when I feel most indebted to you - a window in time between 2003 and 2005.

During that difficult post-college chunk of my life, your couch in Tyler, TX was my weekend escape from Brenham (where nobody loved me) and Grapeland (where nobody else my age seemed to live.) As fellow desperate pew-warming Baptist bachelors to whom “third base” was a side-hug, we would eat fast food, talk about girls, and estimate our chances. And sometimes, when your hunger struck, I would watch you make one of those weird-ass liquid burritos containing tub butter topped with squirtable margarine and a splash of Pace. You have a crazy streak;  it’s a miracle that you still have a pulse.

Back on point, I’m writing to say thank you for your unrivaled hospitality. Your couch and companionship meant more than you know. Your friendship was vital respite in an otherwise very lonely stage of life. Now hurry up and get your foreign-exchange wife back to America so you can suffer with the rest of us under the vulgar fascist you helped crown on election day. We can argue about that some more when we cross paths again in DFW!

Gratefully yours,

Dan

The Aladins

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August 28, 2018

Dear Salman & Laurieann,

Thank you so much for that giant bag of plums set out for us last week. They tasted so great just biting right into them that we had to get creative fast to avoid eating too many! Jenn cooked a bunch down with rum and spices to make a plum butter. The process made the whole house smell amazing. I can’t wait to smear that stuff on some pancakes!

I won’t be traveling the week of Labor day and plan on brewing again. You should walk down for a visit and try some from the last batch if you’re free that day. I’ll text when the time is set!

Thanks again,

Daniel

The Herolds / Emily

This is the 4th of 4 letters sent together, intro here.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Emily,

Love has been your lifeblood

In many different forms—

Miles driven, sleep lost,

Braved fears, a beagle ear,

Bills paid, choices made,

Risks taken, doubts shaken,

Burning questions, determination,

Parental grit, and the pressing-on

Of souls when hope is all but gone.

Unanswered prayers were bravely faced

Though they seem a wicked wraith.

Tubes delivered food and air

But held close in the rocking chair

By Mom and Dad, skin to skin

The purest love imparted then

Kept your tiny heart in tune.

You went under the knife loved over the moon.

Emily, the road ahead is rough

And no one knows how long.

You’ll have a harder trek than most,

But never walk alone.

Love,

Uncle Daniel