Dear Andrew … we went to the Rodin Museum today. You, me, and Alice. First, we had brunch—a lovely brunch, outside, easy conversation, “get to know you” conversation, still, “the mother is visiting and I’m meeting her” conversation. You were lovely, contained, warm, engaged, funny.

And then we went to the Rodin Museum. It wasn’t as warm outside as Alice and I like it—happy when the sun was out, shivering and complaining when a cloud came. You were fine—sun or cloud—happy to be walking next to our girl.

At the museum we wandered together and apart—looking at sculpted hands and Balzac’s head and realizing we hadn’t really read Balzac and Alice googling Balzac’s bibliography and lamenting that it was all in French so how could she know if she’d read anything.

I stepped outside to catch a bit of a tour guide telling a group of Japanese tourists that Rodin liked to think of the figure rising out of the clay, growing and emerging from the ground up—becoming real. And then I got chilly and went back inside to roam the rooms a bit more—though I was reaching my museum saturation point.

Suddenly, I turned a corner and looked out the window at the garden and the sculpture call The Shades and there were you and Alice—deep in conversation, toe-to-toe, leaning toward each other, then circling the sculpture, then laughing, leaning, talking, touching hands briefly, gesturing to emphasize a point, and all I could think was that the most beautiful piece of art in that garden was the two of you—young and lovely, rising out of the clay, growing together, becoming, growing and emerging.

I’ve put this remembrance away—and have kept it safe.

One never, ever knows but I have a feeling that I will be reading this to you someday as you marry Alice—my very most precious girl—and you will know that when I met you, I felt a sweet joy and calm sense of peace that we would have you in our lives and you and Alice would form a life, create a life of love and conversation and laughter, leaning in and standing by each other, growing and emerging from the base, becoming from the ground up.

Just like at the Rodin Museum.