A letter to my son I wake up every day with one hope. A deep wish, that when I lie on my deathbed, I can look into your eyes and believe that I did everything in my power to return your Earth to you, to your grandkids, in good condition. I hope that as I lie there, I do not need to apologize for standing aside as humanity lost its way. And while I feel hopeful, I am also filled with great sadness. Great sadness that your grandchildren may never feel a mouthful of powder as snowboarding will not be possible when it no longer snows. Great Sadness that they may never see the colorful wonderland of the sea when the reefs die off. And Great Sadness that they may never feel the perfect peacefulness of lying on the forest floor when the forests are cut down. We borrowed a perfect world from your grandchildren, and are returning it damaged. But you give me hope. When I see you listening to the silence of the trees, holding the precious magic in a handful of soil, looking with wonder at a seed, I have hope. While I can not promise the world will be perfect or even stable for your grandkids, I can promise that I will do EVERYTHING I can to help the world remember our responsibility.