Last summer, my eight-year-old son, Alex, attended summer camp for the first time. It was an emotional experience, as it marked the first time he spent more than a night away from home. Just an hour after I dropped him off, I found myself longing for his company. By bedtime, I even found myself wandering into his room, seeking a sense of closeness.
As the days progressed, I made it a point to write to him every day. The anticipation of waiting for the mailman felt torturous, as I yearned for a letter from him. I began to fantasize about what he might write, imagining it would resemble something like this: