I posted a story this morning: a story about Tyler.
It was funny, light, and potent. It was about a personal scene that he made very public, a question a boy should ask his dad, and a whole new and poignant reason for us to miss his daddy.
I wrote, revised, saved, and posted.
And then I started thinking more about Tyler. About this story about him, this personal story.
Someday, he might not appreciate I told it. Today, he's three, and he might not mind. But someday he'll be older, and I might have just overstepped a boundary that doesn't yet exist. I can't ever let my boys believe I am not safe, that anything is bloggable, that our home is less than theirs.
My children are a plethora of stories, but they are first of all people. They are people worth my greatest respect.
So I deleted it. If you read it, it's okay. Feel free to know the story.
I just couldn't leave it on the internet. I just couldn't.
That's why I deleted it. For Tyler.