We’re in March now.  Lucas and Abigail were born in December.  My father still hasn’t been able to see them, not for lack of trying. This Friday he’ll finally meet the children of his first born.  He’ll cry.  I can already picture it now.  I wonder which you love more, your children or your grandchildren if there is a "more" with that kind of thing.  I’m sure it’s just a "different" kind of thing.  In writing MOOSE today I was combing through boxes of my past, where I’ve stored everything camp-related: photos, fight songs, variety skits, and letters.  I’ve kept all the letters my grandparents sent me.  Today, I read a letter from my grandmother.  She told me she loved me more than anything in the world, and that there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for me.  It’s wonderful to be loved like that, so completely, for just being you.  I love that my father will love my children that same way, the way his mother loved me.