Updated: June 11, 2019
Originally Published: June 4, 2014
Last summer, my eight-year-old son, Oliver, took his first trip to summer camp—his maiden voyage away from home lasting more than one night. Just an hour after dropping him off, I felt a deep pang of longing for him. Later that night, I found myself wandering into his room, seeking comfort in the familiar space.
Each day at camp, I penned letters to him, eagerly waiting for the mailman to arrive, hoping for a glimpse of his thoughts. The anticipation felt never-ending as I envisioned what his letters might say. I imagined something like this: