It was a February day when your dad came by before going away. A two-haul truck in the driveway, the day it was suddenly real. I told you not to come outside, but you saw that truck and you smiled so wide. A real live truck in your driveway. We let you sit behind the wheel. Goodbye, goodbye. Now it's just me and my little guy. And the house felt so big. And I felt so small. The house felt so big. And I felt so small. That night I tucked you into bed. I won't never forget how you sat up and said, Is there another truck coming to our driveway? A truck that will take mommy away. And the house felt so big. And I felt so small. The house felt so big. And I, and I knew there would be moments that I'd miss. And I knew there would be space I couldn't fill. And I knew I'd come up short a million different ways. And I did. And I do. And I will. But like that February day, I will take your hand, squeeze it tightly, and say, There's not another truck in the driveway. Your mom isn't going anywhere. Your mom is staying right here. Your mom isn't going anywhere. Your mom is staying right here, no matter what. I'll be here when it all feels so big till it all feels so small. When it all feels so big till it all feels so small. Till it all feels so small. ¶¶ ¶¶