As my fine point marker scratches across the pages of your soon to be history I am made suddenly aware that I am your history keeper. I, who share no blood with you, am writing your story, a story you cannot write yourself, a story you may never remember.
I record your young life with colored markers, stickers and photographs. Love flows through my markers onto the colorful pages as I chronicle the springtime of your life.
This feels weighty. Your undetermined future stretches out ahead of us.
On whose lap will you sit while flipping through the pages of your fledgling life? Who will smile and reach out to touch your baby faced photos?
Will you be able to read between my handwritten lines and feel the love and hope I held for you in my heart?
I dare not let even one of my many teardrops stain the pages of your past. Your tender, youthful past will be a happy and a gentle one. I will keep the fears and hurts at bay as best I can.
For as long as I keep your history I will strive to make it a nourishing history, one that might feed you in your future.
I loved you then, I love you now, I will love you forever.