Dear Goodnight,
I was puttering in the garden yesterday while you were at school. I had my garden tools with me, but had forgotten to take my gardening gloves. I went into the garage to find them and a much smaller pair dropped down out of the bin when I pulled out mine.
It reminded me of the much smaller version of you when you came to live with me.
Please don’t ever measure the size of my heart against the size of our small townhome. The little townhome that Officer Friendly and I decided would be perfect for our retirements has also turned out to be perfect for living with you. But . . . it is small and I can’t keep everything.
My heart, on the other hand, has no limit and I can store a great deal more there, (or in my brain for those who prefer the less poetic discussion of anatomy and physiology). I have been able to store more memories than I could ever hold in bins in the garage.
The little pair of gloves that fell were the ones I bought for you to putter in the garden as you worked by my side. You’ve been a welcome addition to this quiet house and the garden is all the better for your puttering there.
The little gloves are going back in the bin for now. If hugs and smiles ever fail to quantify the extent to which you have been included and loved, then pull them out and try them on. They won’t fit you. They were replaced a long time ago. But love needs no replacing. It has grown with every day you have tucked yourself in under my roof.
ps. Your little girl apron won’t fit you either, but I found it in the drawer where my apron is . . . just in case the gloves aren’t enough evidence of your life mixed in with mine. 
I can only think of one word for this letter and what it describes…precious.
Such a beautiful post.
I have a feeling the gloves and apron may be used again in the future, for another small person – and love will expand even more.
Sometimes our hearts are so full they run over and lovely words come out. Thank you–you made my day, and brought a tear to my eye.
Great title to the post!
And so sweet that GN has not only the small gloves and apron which demonstrate her place with you, but she has your words to affirm it.
I just finished reading a book written by my chiropractor. Both of her parents died in a car accident when she was less than two years old. She and her sister were raised by their grandparents. There is a lot to the story. The accident occurred in west Texas during times when most counties in that area were dry. It was a bootlegger, driving in the night with his lights off (so as not to get caught by the sheriff) with whom they collided.
Anyway, my point is that she and I have been having conversations about the fact that she didn’t grow up having her parents, but she had incredible love from her grandparents. AND she feels a part of a bigger whole of family. She didn’t have her parents, and that is a loss that she will feel all of her life, but she has something that not everyone has – the feeling of belonging to an extended, loving family. It’s apparent that you have given GN incredible love and a strong feeling of belonging, and those are gifts that create a wonderful foundation for her to live her life from.
Carol: What is the title of the book? (If you feel like sharing it, of course.)