E,
You were in my house for 429 days. Looking back now, that time feels like a blur. How can this feel like a single day and a lifetime all at once?
I feel the weight of the past and wonder, "Was I a good steward of the time I was given? Did I encourage, teach, support, and love you as well as I could have?" As I reflect on the time, the memories bring back both a deep joy and a heavy heart. I hope I made the most of the days. I pray Lauren and I walked out the Gospel of our Savior Jesus Christ and reflected even a fraction of His goodness to you.
I see my mistakes laid out in front of me, a tapestry cutting words, selfish decisions, and impatience. Forgive me for the many times I let you down. Forgive me for the times I raised my voice, was too harsh, or talked when I should've listened. Forgive me for the wounds I added.
You weren't like a son to me, you are my son. As the day approached that you would be leaving, I felt fine. I had hoped that these feelings wouldn't find me, that somehow I could avoid the sadness and loss that I feel rising inside. But I couldn't, and I haven't. I'm replaying the memories we made as a family. I see the empty room that was once yours. I hear Henry quietly whisper, "I already miss him" as we walk away from the car. I feel a deep longing to go back and seize the time more intentionally.
It has been a great privilege to walk through life with you for these past 429 days. I am so proud of who you are, and the man you are choosing to become. I pray the peace of the Lord over you; that He would fill you with wisdom, courage, and patience. Reconciliation did happen, in the Lord's timing and according to His will—just like we asked. Remember that ours is the God who answers prayers.
Until we meet again, my son.