Photo by bogotron.

For being a doctor, a chef, a manager, a storyteller, a designer, a teacher. For your lasagna recipe. For that time you taught a reluctant boy how to use a sewing machine so he could pass home economics. For taking a vested interest in anything that interests us, no matter how fleeting. For still sending us baseball cards, every Opening Day. For deftly mediating sibling rivalry with the steady hand of a hardened hostage negotiator. For the homemade birthday cakes. For the encouragement, always in infinite supply, often in the form of notes that are somehow permanently relevant. For the mustard smiley faces in our lunch boxes. For being our first editor. For showing us that the hardest things are the ones most worth doing. For listening.

For waiting out the storms.

It’s not much, but, thanks.