Dear Jakey,

Short note to you about your dad. We used to lovingly call him Papa Smurf and I guess we still do, but maybe not as often. I wanted to remind you a little about how much he loves you. I know he talks to you a lot and that is between the two of you  but every once in a while I am struck by how much the loss of you impacts him too. I mean I know I shouldn’t be, but I am so public in my missing you and so wrapped up in my own grief that I am not sure I am too good about being aware of others. Anyways, not the point. The point is your Daddy, in his quiet, strong way , misses you more than you can imagine. He has his routines as a way to keep you close. And Sunday reminded me of how important those routines are. We were out and about – I went to see you after church and brought you a palm. Daddy went for a run before I left for church and saw you then. We brought Ethan on his way to a birthday party and then we went home to do whatever. Ethan wanted to eat at the Parting Glass so we went there – he actually wrote about it in his book with Mrs. Somoza, about how that was a symbol to him of what life was like when it was normal – and he is right, how many times did we walk around the corner to go there? After dinner, we came home and Daddy showered, and Ethan got ready to shower. And Daddy remembered we didn’t say good night. I had already said my good nights but in his mind he hadn’t. He loves you so much Jakey, that he couldn’t bear the thought of not saying good night to you. He needed someone to do it. And since I hadn’t showered (and would never miss an opportunity to see you) I went to say good night. People often say that you don’t need to be at the grave to say good night – and we all know that better than anyone – but it is nice to have that routine. People say that when they still get to tuck their kids in or have other routines with them. We have so little that we grip to what we have. And Jakey, your Daddy always wowed me with his resolve and love for you when you were first sick, and then throughout our journey, and again when he spoke at your service. And through this journey we are continuing for the rest of our lives, he is our rock. I know you miss him but I also know you are helping keep him strong. Until we are together again, we all miss you terribly.