My dear son, I can't believe you are five years old today. It's snowing here in Minnesota, just as it was on the day you were born.
Back in 2002, Auntie Michele surprised me with a visit on your due date. She had planned to welcome her second nephew in fine style, but you took your own sweet time. You are never to be rushed, believe me, I get that. On the morning Michele was to leave, very early, I felt too crummy to drive her to the airport. Too crummy to get out of bed even, and I knew that was the sign I had been waiting for. The sign that you were coming.
So, Daddy very generously drove Michele to the airport at 5 a.m. When he returned, I asked him to spend the day with me rather than going to the office. I was afraid the weather would turn worse and he would have a hard time getting home when I needed him most. Because he is the best Daddy in the whole wide world, he stayed with me. We watched lots of bad TV and took walks in the snow and ate donuts from PJ Murphy's.
Grandma Margaret was going to take care of Simon, but she couldn't make it through the storm so we sent Simon across the street to the Lange's house. Eventually Daddy drove me to the hospital, and after a lot of hard labor and an epidural and many nurses and many hours, you arrived red and screaming. Birth was a lot of work for you too. And, I was so relieved and pleased that you had finally arrived.
I miss you so much today, but you are a very big boy on your very own vacation, and I am so proud of you. Winston Graham Shepard. Five. Years. Old!
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