I received a written, from the USPS, letter from Ange's son, Jack, this week. He wrote it himself. To me. I almost feel like I got a letter from Oprah, except it was really personal...and in pencil.
I took a photo of the letter. I am proud of him. However, since my home computer is acting wonky, it wouldn't download (what are my husband and my stepson doing with this computer when I'm not here?). That being said, it read:
Dear Curt's Mother,
Everyone is going to be fine. I now know you. I love you and Curt. I also know your real name. It is Jeanna. That's a nice name.
Isn't that the best letter ever? I keep it in my car and touch it occasionally, like it's my good luck rabbit's foot.
Ange showed him my facebook page to identify me. Anyone reading this page who does not have a late-talking child may not understand. All goes on, day by day, then one day, you have a really bad day. The next week, you have a really good day. That was yesterday. He played with his cousins from Alabama, tackling and chasing just like any other little body. And, today, he counted to 30 in the tub.
Life is a series of highs and lows. I don't enjoy the lows, but I love the highs.
Thank you, Jack, for the high.
PS I also got a drawing from Pickles, which was excellent! Van Gogh, watch out. What a bonus.