Last summer, my eight-year-old son, Liam, attended summer camp for the first time. It was his first extended time away from home, and within an hour of dropping him off, I felt an overwhelming sense of longing. That night, I found myself wandering into his room, hoping to feel closer to him.
As the days passed, I made it a point to write him a letter every day. Each hour felt like an eternity as I awaited the mailman, yearning for a glimpse of his handwriting. I often found myself daydreaming about the kind of letter he might send. I imagined something like this: