Dear Henry

I had to go out to Las Vegas for work. I was gone for a whole week.

Last time I was in Las Vegas Jack was just a baby. I had left Washington very early in the morning and I called Mom from the airport when I got to Las Vegas and asked how things were back home. Mom said they were great except for one thing. When I had gotten Jack ready for bed the previous night I put him in his pajamas and placed him in his crib. Unfortunately I forgot to put a diaper on his cute little butt. Jack and Mom woke up to a bit of a mess. Oops.

When I got back from Vegas this time I knew that Joe would seem older than when I left. He has taken to falling asleep in our bed, the "Big Bed," and he was asleep by the time I got home. I looked at him in our bed and saw you. Joe is wearing your pajamas, the size 6 Patagonia underwear tops and bottoms. I still don't fully understand how at age 2 he fits into the clothes you wore last year when you were 7. We just got a letter telling us Joe got accepted to the Gan. It will be tough living up to being the brother of the charming Mr. Henry and Jack, Jack the Brainiac. I know your teachers will be excited to have him in their classes.

Jack is doing better. He seems less sad now. He is 7; same age as you. He has a new game boy advance that he loves to play with on the trip to school, and we are cruising through his Adventures of Droon books. I told him the other day that I am really looking forward to knowing him as a grown up. I am in no rush for that to happen, though.

I have an image stuck in my head. You are a balloon. I have been holding the string in my hand for the last year since you died. You, the balloon, hovered just above me out of reach, but always with me. When I was in Las Vegas I realized that I've let go of the string or it just slipped from my grasp. You're gone, and I'm okay. I am sure it is noticeable that I have been writing to you less and less. All this coincided with the one year anniversary of you dying. It is strange that the changes in my feelings and my grief are so in synch with the calendar.

You're gone.

Please know that I love you always.