Superbaby

Dear Andy,

You're walking now. You walk better than your great-grandmother, who is 85 and uses a cane. You walk better than my aunt Ann, who fell while hiking and needed seven screws drilled into her ankle. (Yuck, we saw the X-ray).

It was bittersweet to see you toddling around my grandparents' apartment, in their Warm Beach Senior Community, north of Seattle. You made yourself right at home, tossing magazines to the floor, and throwing oranges-- "balls"--across the living room. They were delighted to see your first steps, your determination to walk upright despite repeated topplings. They noticed your unending curiosity of your new surroundings .

"He certainly has ideas about things," Pop said more than once. Those ideas included strumming the heater vents like guitar strings, and twirling Gram's cane like a baton (or nunchucks, depending on who is telling the story).

The bitter part was realizing that you would have no memory of these things. No memory of meeting these beautiful, loving people who absolutely adore you.

I'll have to do my best to remind you.

Love,

Mom