I Hope You Ride With Me

 

      Daniel,


    Today your brother Adam and I made a trip to our nearest city.   It was rainy and uncharacteristically blustery today.  We ran our errands with the rain and leaves which blew around us.  Finally, it was time to head toward home.  We found ourselves sitting for a long time in the left lane at a traffic light. The car next to us, also waiting,  was a dark blue Volkswagen Passat.   In the back of the car in a nice tall car seat was a little boy who was about three.  It looked as if his grandmother was driving the car.   The little boy reminded me so much of you at that age.  When you were three, you were a veritable curious chatterbox asking about everything and everyone, and noticing everything. It used to be tiring answering all those questions, but I am so glad I did.   Today, the little boy sat in the car seat taking in everything he saw. He had that same look of both innocence and high intelligence that you always had.  Deep down I wanted to cry.  It wasn't that my version of that little boy is gone now, because my version of that little boy grew up and made me even more proud.  You will be 17 in May, or you would be had you remained here on Earth to finish growing to an adult.  I think I am sad because it's that I don't have the easy access to the young man you grew into afterward.  Sometimes, it is no better than the month in which you had to depart. Then, the light turned green. The navy Passat made a quick right turn, and we made our left away from the boy who looked like you.  I hope that sometimes,  you still ride with me.