I found this in the mail today:

Pretty intriguing. I opened it up and it was about his insurance:

One might think that I’d complain about it. Say something about how the insurance company should review their policy on sending letters to newborns, especially ones that have since gone into Angel-mode.

But, no. It made me happy. Really happy. It reminds me that he was here on earth. That he made an impact. That he had stuff.

This is his letter.
About his insurance.
Just the same as his diapers.
And his blankets.
And his presents.
And his hat.
And his gown.
And his monkey toy.
His poop.
His feet.
His hands.
His eyes.
His voice.

All of it. All of it was here, and all of it was real. And all of it is always his.