When I met you at the center, I recognized your name. Then I saw your face.
You had his eyes.
I wanted to tell you immediately. But I was frightened that you would walk away before I had the chance to know you.
So I waited.
I listened to your stories. I watched you laugh. I learned the man my little boy had become.
And when I knew I had very little time left, I asked you for one final thing.
Our wedding was not an attempt to replace the years we lost.
It was my way of keeping a promise to myself.
For one day, I wanted to wear the dress I had once imagined wearing beside your father.
I wanted to hold your hand, look into your eyes, and believe that the years between us had not taken everything.
You gave me that day.
You gave me more than you will ever understand.
