34
KENNY
“Hey Pops,” Woodstock says, handing me a note as he is walking out through the front door into the evening sun.
I sit in my room in the evening light, reading my son’s letter. I love this young man, always have. Folding the letter back in the envelope, hands trembling, I cry and can’t help but think about how proud Jenny and Chuck would have been to see their child graduate high school. How I wished they could see their boy now. Many times I questioned God’s will to take them from this world. In the next life, maybe my questions will be answered.
Not often does the motivation to write find me, but when it does, I can put words together. Phrases a lot different from when I’m speaking them. I sit at the desk and feel joy writing a letter to Woodstock about his decision to go to
