Dear Avery -- is Santa real?

Dear Avery,

We are in the height of the Christmas season. Our house is filled to the brim with green and red and sparkles and lights.  We have made cookies and gingerbread houses and ornaments and crafts. We have stamped, addressed and mailed our cards. We have sung Jingle Bells at the top of our lungs. We have read all of the Christmas classics and have watched all of the movies -- at least twice. The gifts are wrapped. The groceries are sitting in the fridge ready to go. Nana and Papa will be here tomorrow morning. Christmas is two days away.

A few weeks ago you told me that you really wanted to believe in Santa but your gut said no. I was able to skirt around the issue and leave it with "well, what do you believe?" and then seamlessly changed the subject to something less risky like magic tricks and rainbows. I sighed a big silent sigh of relief and thought to myself, "phew...that was a close one." I thought your doubt had been cleared. I thought it was over. You went right back to writing your list and searching for Elmer and all of the other magical things that come with Christmas to a 7-year-old.

Yesterday Tyler was on a playdate, and you and I were hanging out in the kitchen having a snack. Out of the blue you looked up at me with your big brown curious eyes, and you said, "Mom, are you Santa?"

My heart sunk into my stomach. I was not expecting this. I have always told myself that I will never straight-up lie to you. Daddy and I have been honest and open with many of your grown-up questions along the way...9/11 and the Boston Marathon and Sandy Hook...and even childbirth.

But this one felt different. You are still my baby. You are only seven. You are in the FIRST grade. And CHRISTMAS IS IN TWO DAYS!!!!

You had me cornered. You begged me to tell you the truth. You promised you wouldn't tell anyone. You even accused me of smirking -- when really I was just too stunned to say a thing. I wanted to cry. I wanted to freeze time and figure out the right thing to say to you. I wanted to phone a friend. I wanted to strangle the parent of the kid who told you there was no such thing. I wanted to go back in time to when you were four.

But in the end I did what I had to do. I said, "No, absolutely not" with the straightest face I could muster. I told you my smirk was because I thought it was hilarious that you could even think that dad and I would have enough money for all those presents. I promised you over and over that Santa is real and that he is not me.

And after taking a few hours to process, I am sure I did the right thing. I didn't lie to you. I am not Santa. Santa is far bigger than me. Santa is magic and innocence and imagination. He is kindness and generosity and compassion. Santa is the anonymous person who paid off all of the lay-away items at Toys-R-us for the 3rd year in a row. Santa is the man standing outside of Market Basket in the cold ringing the bell to collect money for the Salvation Army. Santa is the lady passing out hats and scarves to all of the homeless people in Boston. Santa is you and your brother when you secretly drop off your "pay it forward" bags all over town each year.

Santa is the belief that goodness still exists in this world...even with the horrors like 9/11, the Boston Marathon and Sandy Hook. Santa is the belief that small acts of kindness can actually make the world a better place. Santa is the belief that YOU have the power to make this world a better place.

So, no honey, I alone am not Santa. We are all Santa. And no matter how old I get, I will always believe.

Some day I hope you thank me for responding to you the way I did. Maybe you'll even see it as the great gift that it was...the gift of being a child. I promise you, another year of the big man in the red suit will do you no harm. You're seven. Enjoy the magic. Merry Christmas.

Love,
Mommy

Dear Avery & Tyler -- wealth

Dear Avery & Tyler,

Yesterday we kicked off Hanukkah with our annual Jacobs family party in South Dartmouth. Tyler, you loved playing football with your big cousins. And Avery, you and Hadley had so much fun with your American Girl Dolls.

My cousin Wendy was there. I love her dearly and always have. She and I grew up close. We played together like sisters at every family party, just like you do with your cousins. She and I have climbed Mt. Washington together several times, we have jumped into freezing cold lakes with our sports bras and underwear, we have shared the horror stories of first dates...and the joy of our wedding days.

Wendy is bubbly, hilarious, loving and beautiful. She is also rich. Not just a little rich. She is filthy, filthy rich. She had a conversation with her mother yesterday that I couldn't help but overhear. I was, after all, squished right next to them on the couch. Apparently she is in the process of building a new home (her 4th to be exact) and apparently it is costing her more than 5 million dollars.

I can't begin to imagine what 5 million dollars even looks like, nor do I really want to. I actually had to get up and walk outside. She may have mistaken my abrupt exit as some sort of jealousy, and that's fine if she did. But I want to be clear with the two of you. Jealousy was not the culprit. Not at all. It was the opposite actually. I feel bad for her. She thinks that yachts and trips around the world and $5 million dollar houses are the things that are going to make her happy in life. But they never will.

She will never be a mother. She will never look down at a tiny infant and know the true definition of love at first sight. She will never stare into the eyes of her little girl and see herself staring back. She will never be asked by a 6-year-old boy to meet her under the mistletoe. She will never be the most beautiful person in the entire world. She will never be loved as sweetly and purely and enormously as a child loves his mother. And she will never get to love anyone that enormously either.

She may have money and she may have things, but in the big picture of life, what does she have that really matters?

Last night after you were both sound asleep tucked cozy into your beds, I lay down with each of you and whispered into your ear, "I would never trade this life for anything."

I am the wealthiest woman in the world.

"I did it all
I owned every second that this world could give
I saw so many places, the things that I did
With every broken bone, I swear I lived
I hope you spend your days and they all add up
And when that sun goes down
I hope you raise your cup..."

Love,
Mom

Letter from Santa

Dear Avery & Tyler,

Merry Christmas! The elves and I are very busy getting ready for Christmas, and I’m really excited that we’ll be visiting your home in Norfolk, MA.

I’ve been making a list and checking it twice, and it says you you’ve both been nice! I’m very proud of both of you. I like bringing toys to children who are kind to others, listen to their parents and do their best in school. I can’t promise that you’ll get everything you asked for, but I’m positive there will be a few presents from me under the tree and that your stockings will be full!

Please remember, though, that Christmas is not about how many presents are under the tree. There are so many children in this world who are not fortunate enough to have clean clothes, a cozy bed or enough food to fill their bellies. I will be working very hard this year to bring more toys to those who have none. I know you are old enough now to understand, and I know you will be appreciative. The true spirit of Christmas is giving…not getting. Remember that!

Christmas is also about family and friends and all the great people and blessings you have in your life. These are the most important things to celebrate. As long as you have love surrounding you, that’s worth more than all the toys in the world. 

Have a very merry Christmas!

Santa Claus
P.S. Your house is one of my first stops this year so be sure to go to bed early. The magic only works if you’re sleeping!

A letter to your dad -- Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 2015

Dear Phil,

I am thankful for our home. As much as I complain about our stupid cabinets and our tiny ugly bathrooms, I am grateful for the roof over our head and the backyard we can call our own. Mostly though, I am thankful for the noises that fill it. I am thankful for the laughter, the giggles, the squeals of delight. I am thankful for the whispered conversations between our children as they drift off to sleep. I am thankful for their never-ending questions…for their curiosity and daily evidence of learning and growing. I am even thankful for the arguments, the screaming, the crying, the stomping. A silent house is an empty one. I am thankful that we have filled ours with life…and all it’s glory.

I am thankful for my job. As much as I complain about the politics of teaching, when I step into the confines of those 4 walls of my little classroom, I get to do what I love. I get to do what inspires me, and I get to inspire others. I get to put my little stamp on this world and be somebody. Not everyone is so lucky.

I am thankful for your job. I know that you hate it. And I really hate that you hate it. But I am thankful that you can hate something and still get paid well for doing it. I am thankful that we have enough money for that roof over our head. As much as this roller coaster has been bumpy and tough, I am thankful for it. I know we will look back on it one day and realize we came out of it a hell of a lot stronger than we went in. It’s only a matter of time.

I am thankful for your parents and for mine. I am thankful that our children have six grandparents who love them so unconditionally. I am thankful for each of their unique gifts and own special ways of expressing generosity. I am thankful for the cousins our children get to grow up with. I am also thankful for the ones that they can’t grow up with. They have offered a perspective of the world our children wouldn’t have otherwise seen. They have made them wiser, more compassionate, more thoughtful, more understanding.

I am thankful for the grandparents that I lost. Even though my grief over the last year or so has broken my heart and turned me inside out, I am thankful for the experience that has left me stronger and more appreciative. I am thankful for all the years I did have and for all the gifts they left me with.

I am thankful for our health. I take it for granted, I know. Every time I mutter the words, “why does everything have to be so hard,” I am shamed even before they finish coming out of my mouth. I know things could be SO much harder. SO MUCH HARDER. As much as I complain about the never-ending laundry, I am thankful that our children are healthy enough to play outside and get dirty. I am thankful that they keep growing.

More than anything, though, I am thankful for you. I am thankful for your love, your devotion, your sense of humor and your forgiveness. Raising children is the biggest, most important job of our lives. We haven’t done it perfectly. But when I see our children playing gently with their baby cousin or hugging their great-aunt or thanking their grandparents or delivering the Thanksgiving speech or cuddling with their daddy on the couch, I know that we are doing it well.  We are raising good, confident, solid people. Nothing about it is easy, but I am so grateful to be doing it all with you by my side.

With every sigh of frustration or roll of my eyes, I know deep down I am lucky. Beneath all of it, I am thankful. Always.

I love you,

Andra

Dear Tyler -- 6 years old

Dear Tyler,

Another birthday in the books. You are the epitome of 6 -- joyful, inquisitive, full of energy, hilarious and incredibly loving. All that and a giant toothless grin to top it off.

You describe yourself as a mathematician who loves his momma...and a vegetarian who doesn't eat vegetables. See, you're hilarious. You are toying with being either an engineer, a professional football player or a paranormal expert when you grow up. Decisions decisions. You love rap music and you have dance moves like no other. Your heroes are Tom Brady, Matty B. and your father.

You didn't want a birthday party. It's not your style. You don't like commotion, crowds or chaos. You are just like your daddy. All you've ever asked for is a little attention, a big piece of cake and your family by your side. You are a smart boy.

Daddy is on a trip right now and it just about broke his heart to miss your birthday. But you took it in stride and forgave him instantly. It wouldn't be like you to hold a grudge. You know you are loved and that's all you need.

Since we gave you a new bike around Avery's birthday, we only had little things for you today. This morning you opened your pokemon cards and a Tom Brady shirt and hat. It was as if I had given you a million dollars. Sheer joy, excitement and appreciation. It doesn't take much to make you happy. After school I took you and Avery to the movies to see "Goosebumps". You loved every single second of it and couldn't have been any cuter in your 3D glasses.

My favorite part of today was visiting you at kindergarten. The normal birthday protocol is for the mom to bring her child's favorite book to read to the class. Since the only book you would even consider was your brand new chapter book that you excitedly purchased at the School Book Fair this week, "I Survived the Joplin Tornado 2011", I decided maybe we would change things up a bit and go with plan B. I'm not sure how many other kindergartners share your passion for gruesome non-fiction.

So we decided to bring a few of your favorite magic tricks instead. I have to admit I was a little nervous. Last week, Avery's friend Emmette caught on to the secret of one of your tricks, and in her excitement, she threw you under the bus. To say you were devastated would be an understatement. You threw a full-blown lie-on-the-floor-and-kick-your-legs tantrum and told me through huge, sad crocodile tears that nobody will think you are amazing anymore.

Well let me tell you, sweetheart, they all thought you were amazing today. It was one of your best shining moments. You made cards appear and hankies disappear. You guessed numbers correctly and made balls pass through solid cups. You even pulled your thumb off of your hand. Every single child in your class was in complete awe of you. You were the star. And you glowed from the inside out. I have never been so proud.

And even if the kids hadn't thought you were amazing (and someday maybe they won't), let me assure you that at least one person always will. Everything you do and everything you are amazes me -- your incredible math brain, your curiosity about everything around you, your fierce determination and drive to master new skills, your unbelievable strength, your compassion for others, your impeccable manners in public, your constant warmth and affection and your unwavering loyalty to your sister. You are truly an amazing little boy who I know will grow up to do amazing things. There is no question.

I love you a million jillion gazillion patrillion bavillion...and even more than that.

Love,
Mom

Dear Avery -- 7 years old

Dear Avery,

I don't know how the time keeps slipping away. Your birthday was a few weeks ago already. You decided this year to invite just two friends (Rylan and Ashley) to Rock On Adventures and then out to dinner. You insisted on dinner at Bertucci's and THEN ice cream at Friendly's. Dad and I tried to convince you to make it a one-stop event but the princess could not be swayed.

You are a girl who knows what you want, and you will accept nothing less. At age 7 this quality can get you into trouble. Dad and I are constantly having to remind you that you are not in charge. We have to tell you again and again that you are not Tyler's mother...that you are not the adult. We have had power struggles with you that have lasted for hours. We have removed your bedroom door because of one too many slams. We have gone to the ends of the earth to teach who how to comply and respect authority. You do not back down easily.

At 7 it can be tough. But someday this quality will serve you well. You will be the CEO of a big company or the superintendent of a school district or the mayor of a city. Or something entirely different. I just know you will be something big. You will be somebody powerful and amazing. You will move mountains. I have no doubt you will make this world a more beautiful place.

And in the meantime, you will be our strong-willed, creative, sassy, powerful bigger-than-life 7-year-old daughter. You will shriek with excitement over your rapidly growing collection of Shopkins. You will dance to Taylor Swift and sing your little heart out. You will cartwheel all over every room of our house. You will watch endless Youtube videos of other little girls your age doing all sorts of creative things. You will continue taking your own videos and introduce yourself every time with "Hi guys, this is Avery from Avery's channel." You will run around the yard with your brother and come inside with dirty feet and leaves in your hair. You will kick him in the stomach and tell him you love him all in the same breath. You will sleep on the floor next to our bed every night and mutter under your breath at me every morning. You will love me. You will hate me. You will need me. You will want me gone. You will beg me to stay.

Don't you worry baby doll, I'm not going anywhere. Through every bit of it, I will love you. Every foot stomp and eye roll...I will love you. Until the end of time. I am proud to be your mother and can think of no dream bigger than this one.

I love you so much.

Love,
Mom

Dear kids...practice kindness

Dear Avery & Tyler,

Three weeks ago Daddy came home with unexpected news. He lost his job. He hadn't done anything to warrant this loss; in fact his performance with his company was outstanding. You both know that nobody works harder than Daddy.

But sometimes things in life happen this way; unexpected, unreasonable, unfair. You can't always fight these things. You must learn to take what life hands you and hold your heads up high no matter what. Life isn't about the hand you're dealt, it's how you play your cards. And you need to play them with grace and dignity...always. Remember that.

Anyway a few days ago I took Tyler to Market Basket and received another unexpected blow. It wasn't nearly as big as Dad's unemployment, of course, but it still bothered me to my core. This is what I found on my windshield after buying our groceries at Market Basket:

And my response (to which the person will obviously never read):

To the person(s) who left this note on my car in the Market Basket parking lot:

First of all, please accept my apology for not properly centering my car between the lines. I am sincerely sorry for whatever nuisance that may have caused. 

To be fair, it wasn’t possible for me to center my car within the lines because the car on the other side of me was not centered in his. It is the nature of the beast of the Market Basket parking lot. I had driven around the lot for over 10-minutes with my son desperately wanting to get out already, and this spot was the first of which I came across. And let me assure you my car was NOT a foot away from yours. I didn’t bring my measuring tape today, but if my 5-year-old was able to easily open his car door and climb out without hitting your car with his door, I can assure you it was more than one foot. (no, he isn’t very big...but he’s not very careful about swinging open doors either and I never would have let him out that side had we been that close) You may not believe me but I actually AM considerate of others.  

What I’m most curious about, though, is how much do you consider others? Did you give any thought to who might receive your note? What if I had been a little old lady? I saw at least 8 at Market Basket this morning. How about a new mom struggling with a screaming infant? I saw one of those too. A mom with a 5-year-old who can recognize the letters of what he calls “the f-bomb” and wants to know why someone would ever say something so horrible to his mom? Yup, that one is me.

Here are some other things you couldn’t possibly know about me. There is nothing that makes me shudder more than dragging my very active 5-year-old son to Market Basket with me on our one day off together. But today I had no choice. Three weeks ago my husband lost his job (without a day of notice) and we are already half-way through his company’s “generous” 6-week severance. Our grocery envelope was down to its last few dollars and I am determined to make those dollars last. Our health insurance runs out in 3 days, and though I am a public school teacher (perhaps your child’s teacher??) I receive no health benefits because I am not full-time. 

We were quick to get out of the car this morning because my son was excited to run into Staples to buy his daddy a present (resume paper). A grocer with special needs was on his way to our car to offer us a cart and I wanted to receive his generosity kindly instead of dilly-dallying to try to straighten my car in a spot in which it could never be straightened. 

Don’t get me wrong. This is no pity party. I will shop at Market Basket (crazy parking lot, crowded aisles and all) with my head held high. I will take joy in the friendly staff. I will be grateful for the grocer who brings us a cart. I will smile back to every single elderly man and woman and think warmly of my grandparents every time. I will gladly help the little old lady in aisle 9 reach the box on the highest shelf and be proud to share this easy example of kindness and compassion with my son. And of course I will appreciate the savings with a more grateful perspective than ever before.

Perhaps if you spent more of your time taking notice of all the good things around you and less of it writing nasty notes to strangers you know nothing about, you’ll find yourself in a much happier place...regardless of how close it happens to be to someone else."

Now it felt cathartic and empowering to get my thoughts out on paper and express myself so freely. But it wasn't enough. I know very well I can't possibly change all the hostility in the world. But I felt this nagging need to teach both of YOU what you can do when life hands you a lemon. Because trust me, life will hand you plenty.

You came home from school and I asked you if wanted to join me in heading off on a mission to make the world a better place. Of course you both said YES! So we drove over to Market Basket and left 10 notes like this one on random cars in the parking lot. We might have looked a little crazy running around the parking lot. But that's the thing. WHO CARES?!?! When you're doing something kind, don't worry about looking cool. Kind always comes first.

We looked mostly for handicapped cars and ones with carseats. Then we drove around the lot for over an hour and tried to spy as people came out of the store and received their notes. We caught one half-smile and two people who drove off without ever noticing the paper on their windshield. Somehow we missed all of the rest.

Except one. We pulled in next to the lady just after she got her note and watched her laughing hysterically into her cellphone. She caught us spying and figured us out. She insisted that we roll down our windows, told us how we totally just made her day and that she had just called her friend to read her the note. She couldn't stop smiling and thanking us. Then she told us she planned to do the same for someone else.

That's the thing. Kindness is infectious. It feels good and people want to spread it. Tyler said on the way home, "Wow, making people happy is fun." That's the lesson. It IS fun. It is inspiring to inspire others. And just remembers it takes the same amount of energy to be kind as it does to be cruel. But kind feels a WHOLE lot better. 

Choose kind every time. I promise you, you can't go wrong.

I love you both!
Mom

Dear Nannie

We lost our Nannie last week. It was sudden and heartbreaking and enormous. She was like a mother to me and it nearly swallowed me whole. I could sit here and write down the details of her death...but I know she'd rather me share with you the details of her life.

She loved the two of you so fully. You brought her SO MUCH JOY. Every time we went to visit her (which was very often) she spent the entire visit telling me over and over again how GOOD my kids are. She didn't want me to forget. And she always wanted me to go home and remind Daddy too. You two were pure gold to her.

A few weeks ago we took her out to lunch at Panera and then to Jordan's for our annual Enchanted Village visit with her. We had so much fun looking at all the Christmas displays and lights.  Then the two of you laced up your skates and hit indoor skating rink. Nannie and I sat right on the side, holding hands and laughing our hearts out the entire time. Avery made a friend and left Tyler in the dust, who spent the entire hour just trying to catch up with his sister...falling miserably over and over again. But then he'd bounce back up and take off once again. I've never heard Nannie laugh so hard...I was worried she would hurt herself. She kept telling me to check his tushie later for bruises.

It truly was a magical day. We were exhausted afterwards but bursting with joy. That's the Nannie I want you to remember. She didn't just live in the moment, she cherished it. And she cherished the two of you more than anything.

Here is my eulogy I read at her funeral:

I have a box in my closet full of letters that my Nannie has written to me over the years. It is my treasure box. All of my summers away at camp, off to college, teaching in Vermont -- I always looked forward to seeing her handwriting on an envelope in my mailbox. Her letters were full of advice, silly stories, warmth, praise and love…sometimes even a few dollars. She had a way of reaching me across the miles. She understood my homesickness, cheered on my successes and softened my heartaches. She always said exactly what I needed to hear. Every single one of her letters made me laugh out loud and simultaneously brought me to tears.

Today it is my turn to write a letter back to her.

Dear Nannie,

I am so full of gratitude to have had you for the 38 years of my life. I am SO very grateful that my children have had you too. You have been such a gift to all of us. It is a rarity to be blessed with someone who totally gets you, who accepts you for exactly who you are and always expects the best from you. Any one of us could be writing this same letter to you. Your connection with each of us was so deep and so true. You made us each feel like the most important, cherished, beautiful and loved person on earth.

You taught us to be gracious and open. Your beach house was OUR beach house. We never had to ask permission to visit. We never had to ask to bring our friends. We were expected to. And you were always there in your bathing suit ready to welcome us -- and whatever crowd we brought along -- with open arms, a huge smile and plenty of chicken soup. You weren’t just our Nannie…you were everyone’s Nannie.

You taught us not to cry over spilled milk. One summer when Craig and I were kids, we were having a snack in the kitchen while you were out in the backyard hanging the laundry. I can’t remember the details but somehow we dropped a huge jug of apple juice and it shattered, covering your kitchen in juice and glass. Craig and I were horrified. We thought you were going to kill us. And then you walked in. And do you know what you said? “Oh well, let’s clean it up.” There was no yelling, no anger, not even the slightest hint of irritation. In the big scheme of life it was NO BIG DEAL. You taught us that no spills, no matter how big, ever are.

You taught us to respect our elders. Your best friends at the beach — the beach bums — became our best friends every summer as well. Singing songs, telling stories, laughing wildly, having our daily party at the beach -- these are some of my sweetest childhood memories. You taught us to be affectionate and warm, to embrace bonds regardless of age, to cherish every single friendship and to hold them all dear. You taught us to love.

You taught us to stop and smell the roses -- or in your case to stop and collect the sea glass. You taught us to be young at heart, always. You cherished the little moments. From feeding the ducks to making pies in the sand to bowling and bingo -- you found joy in all of it. There aren’t many 90-year-olds who will get into the ocean and jump the waves with their great-grandchildren. But you never missed an opportunity. You were never in a rush, never got bored, never too eager to move on to the next thing without fully enjoying the thing you were right smack in the middle of. Your joy was infectious. You taught us to live.

You taught us that happiness doesn’t come from things; it comes from each other. You never ever complained about what you didn’t have, and you took SO MUCH pride in all that you did — your crooked little house, your family, your dignity. You taught us to hold our heads up high and be grateful…always.

You taught us to say I’m sorry. As much as you loved and adored each of us, you were never hesitant to be completely honest -- at times utterly and brutally honest. If we did something wrong, we knew we’d be hearing about it from you. And we knew we had to fix it. You were tough. And you made each of us better because of it.

You taught us the yiddish word “bashert”, in other words “meant to be”. I remember coming to you as a teenager with a broken heart. You told me -- promised me -- that when I met the right person I’d know. I didn’t understand then what you meant. Until I did. When I introduced Phil to you, you knew too. It was “bashert”. It was so important to you that each of us found that right one, whoever he or she may be, as long as we were happy. And we all did. Because you taught us exactly what to look for. You and Papa Bob lived an extraordinary love story — 68 years of commitment, affection and

devotion. It was your gift to us. And we treasure it.

You taught us that family is everything. Your summer Sunday BBQs, your Chinatown dinners, your Jewish Christmas, your kugel, brisket and canadels. These are the things that bond us. One of the first things I ever said to Phil was, “my family’s crazy...and I love them anyway.” This is what you taught us. You embraced the crazy and found joy in it. You loved each of us whole-heartedly and remarkably, despite the crazy...you loved us BECAUSE of the crazy. You told us every day exactly where we belonged. You taught us who we are.

You have been our shoulder to cry on, our listening ear and our favorite person to laugh with. You brought us toys when we were home sick with the chicken pox, you cheered us on as we graduated from college, you raised the roof with us on our wedding days and you held our babies and sang to them when they were only days old. You never missed one single moment. You have been our best friend, our hardest critic and our biggest fan. You have been our rock. Our beloved Nannie.

After my kids were born, every time I came to visit you -- exhausted with motherhood -- your first order of business was always to put me right to bed. Whether I was in the mood for a nap or not, there was no choice. You were going to get rid of me and then stuff my kids with cupcakes and hoodsies. You would direct me to your bedroom, tuck me in tight and kiss me goodnight. Each time I never thought there was any way I would actually fall asleep. But every single time I did -- to the sound of my children and my grandparents laughing their hearts out. Those naps were the best of my life.

Today it is our turn to put you to rest. You have lived a long, FULL, loving, beautiful life. Consider this note to you your bedtime story. Consider all of us here today your goodnight kiss. Consider our memories of you a forever soundtrack of laughter. This is not the end for you. You are larger than life. You will be there every time our children have a spill, every time we hold the door for the little old lady behind us, every  time we do someone wrong and know it, every time we find a piece of seaglass in the sand. You won't miss a thing.

May you find comfort in being with your dear husband again and resting in peace together. May you know that your bright spirit is embedded deep into each of us and that you are leaving us all with your beautiful legacy of love. Sleep tight Nannie. Sweet dreams.

Love,

Andra