by Liesl Testwuide on Scarymommy
Last year, my eight year-old son went to summer camp. It was the first time he had been away from home for more than a night. An hour after I dropped him off, I missed him. By the time I went to bed, I found myself wandering into his bedroom, just to feel close to him.
As the days passed, I wrote to him daily. Each hour dragged as I’d wait for the mailman, hoping for just one letter from him. By that point I missed him so much, I began to imagine what he might write.
The next day I received an actual letter from him. It was just slightly different from what I imagined:
