To: Dakota

You were just a boy, a magic one, with green eyes and spitfire soul. Your whole body and brain bursting with talent and humor and life.

And here you are 21. But you seem 41. All burnt out and depressed and worn, and droopy-eyed, acting so tough. Back busted from bucking broncos, and car wrecks, and long hours installing factory sprinkler heads in hard hats, and all you care about is money, and things, and trucks and speakers, and gators, and girls, as they come and go. You play them and they play you, and you don't really invest yourself, even though all of you wants to and actually you do - but you're dying a little every day, more than any man should. And yeah -  I called you a man. But I knew you as a boy. And I loved that boy. In a way I rarely have any others. You niched a special place of belonging so deep in my heart. I always wanted so hard to someday have a son just like you. I don't wish we could go back - cause we were kids back then - and now we're older. But life has not bruised me like it has you. Well, I have lot's of scars, and tender bits, but I'm still hopeful, and I see life's magic still, and it keeps me going, and really just makes everything better. I want that for you too. Maybe you're more resilient then you let on. You always had that. Who are you pretending for? Stop that. Stop looking for love and meaning in all the worst possible places. I pray that someday your eyes open up, and you see the Maker of things, and you know exactly how much you're loved.

I watched your eyelids curl around those glassy peepers, and I saw slivers of your soul. Praise God that He let's us love, sometimes like this. Unconditional, and seeing. He must see us this way. On the edge of his seat, cheering and excited because he sees us as the best player on the t-ball team, and can't wait to see us succeed, cause he knows we got it in us. You can still succeed, buddy. You just gotta realize happiness doesn't come from things, and you will - because you were one to teach me that - all those so many years ago.