And I said...

It rains when you cry. Do you remember that? Ask the dog. Ask the birds. Ask the trees. They know. Sometimes when it is bad there is thunder and lightening. The last time we met, before you were born, you were so excited. In only the way someone who is beginning a grand adventure can be. We laid it all out. It was to be the grandest adventure yet. You woke me up to be there for you. I winced when you told me the plan. It wasn’t that I thought it was a bad idea. I knew if anyone could do it, you could. I just couldn’t bear the thought of standing by silent and invisible as you wandered about the dark, empty universe, knocking your knees on ill placed furniture, freezing and alone, screaming at the stars. Do you remember the agreement we made? I said, how will you remember me after you’re born? And you said, butterflies? And I said, too cliché. How about the rain? And you said, just rain? And I said, no. It will rain when you’re sad. That is how you will remember me. And you said, sounds kind of dramatic. And as you turned and walked away, I said, and they will name you Jesse. After me.