It was two years ago today that you went to preschool for the first time. You were excited and scared. I was excited and scared.
Your life was forever changed with all of the possibilities.
Seven years ago today our lives changed, too. This date became a black spot on the calendar; a day of grief. Not many would arguably say the changes were for the better. Not many would say the broken places made us stronger.
Some people look sadly on where we've gone since that terrible day; others look forward with hope. I seem to be a traveler without a territory between those two camps.
I wrote to you, Annabel, on the day you went to school for the first time two years ago, and I explained my hopes for you as you embark on figuring out the sometimes sad facts of life.
And though you and I have both grown since that wonderful, frightful day, each word of my wish for you is the same:
Look both ways, but cross the street.