When F started preschool in February, they asked for items to add to their disaster kit. They wanted a gallon of water, an extra blanket and a note to soothe F in case of a disaster. The thought of writing the note was simply too much for me. I hadn’t given them the letter (as I was supposed to) until now. Here it is. Writing it today feels as if I’m trying to lift up part of the sky.
I’ve never written something I didn’t want someone to read. I hope he never reads this:
When you were just learning to talk, you used to say “kokay” instead of “okay.” I really liked it. That extra “K” at the beginning of the word was all yours. You came up with it and continued it until you were almost 2½ years old. It was funny and adorable; you were the only little boy in the world I know who said it like that. In a whole school of children, I could have heard your “kokay” from across the room. Any room.
Today you say “okay” when you know you are. Say it now, F. You’re okay.
Today is a funny day, but we are with you. Next to you, holding your hand, whispering into your right ear and squeezing your finger tips. Nose to nose. You may not see me right now, but I’m with you. Just like the Llama Llama book says, even when I feel far from you, Mama is always near.
Mommy and Daddy will be with you soon. We’ll smile, hug you, and squeeze you tight. We’ll continue on this marvelous journey with you until we’re at the edge of the sun. We’ll travel to the blue sky, watch red sunsets and dance under a bright yellow sun. We’ll climb to the white tops of the mountains. You and O and Daddy and Mommy will have so many more journeys. You’re going to have to hold on tight!
Be a brave boy until we see you. Help your friends. Listen to your teachers. Give big hugs. Be kind and sweet.
I know you’ll be kokay.
We love you more than the moon, the sun, and all the water in the ocean. See you soon, Lovie.
Love, love, love, Mommy & Daddy