For 18 years, my son received a mysterious envelope every birthday—when he finally opened the last one, he discovered who had been sending them all along

need mystery to know you were loved. I don’t know if he was right, but I do know this: he talked about you before you could even talk back. You were loved before you were born, and you were loved every year after.”

“Happy birthday, Adrian.”

“Tom.”

Adrian read that twice, then handed it to me.

“He sounds like Grandpa’s kind of person.”

“He was,” I said. continue reading …