Letter to My Son

The Guideposts executive editor reminisces on his son's childhood years.

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Tim, I slept in your bed last night. I wasn’t feeling great and I didn’t want to keep your mom up by coughing and besides I wanted to turn out the lights early so I figured I’d sleep in your bed instead. 

Looking up at your pictures and posters and old trophies, I didn’t fall asleep right away. I kept thinking of you. Even though your brother’s gone and you’re at school we’re not going to turn this room into an office. We want you to have a place to come home to that still yours. The bed must be a little short on you now and we need to get you a new bedspread, but I liked your room.   

This was the place where you grew up, where you played Legos, did your homework, read Harry Potter, practiced your guitar, said your prayers. It’s a place where you can still store tons of T-shirts and books from last year’s classes. 

Sometimes we let guests stay here in your absence but it should still feel like your place (even if we get rid of the platform bed). You’ll go lots of places, you’ll travel far. But there will always be a little of you back in this room. 

I remembered coming in here at night when you and your brother were asleep and praying that somehow you both would grow up to be happy, interesting, wonderful, generous kids. You did that. Everything on the walls, from the photos of your friends to the diplomas, says so. It made me realize what a lucky dad I am. 

Thanks for your bed last night, Tim. I slept well. 

Rick Hamlin is the executive editor at GUIDEPOSTS.

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