I have watched his face this year, and for a little while, his cheeks were sunken and his eyes seemed dull. I have worried and prayed. I’ve had to trust that others would step forward, as my own legs were not made for this journey with him. But my heart has traveled in his shirt pocket, close and warm. It has flown above him, hovering just above his bright hair in hallways, hills, and classrooms. I gauged his strength by the notes on our piano. For a time, there was no music.

“Wait,” is all I hear from heaven.

Quietly, steadily, I watch grace unfold its pattern, like the snowflakes I cut out each winter. No matter how many I make, I still feel wonder when I open the folds.

“Look!” is a common word spoken by angels.

I didn’t have to wait for winter this year to reveal a pattern in the cuts and winnowing. It wasn’t a snowflake this time. It was a jack-o’-lantern, every feature smiling, especially the eyes.

My son is happy.


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I write so my family will always have letters from home.