My dear Vincent,

One evening, not long ago, your Catherine dropped by for a visit.  You had been off working in some remote section of the tunnels for almost a week, and I suspect she was feeling a little bit lost.  So, we were able to spend some time together, and as I often do, I began sketching her while we talked.  At first, she seemed a little self-conscious, but once the subject turned to stories of your childhood . . . well, I think she even forgot I had a pencil in my hand.

Catherine is an artist's dream, and nightmare.  Everything she is feeling shows in her expressions, and they change moment by moment - -  joy, sadness, compassion, humor.  I saw it all flash across her face.  Then quite suddenly she took on a look of such incredible beauty, I forgot to breathe.  I turned and followed her gaze past my shoulder  and there you stood in the entrance of my chamber.

Vincent, from the first time I saw you as a baby in father’s arms, I always believed that the most beautiful sight these old eyes of mine would ever see was you . . . and now you’ve grown into this extraordinary man.  But not even that, Vincent, could ever compare to the beautiful look of love I saw on Catherine’s face, seeing you standing there. 

And I wondered . . . does he see it?  Do you? Do you see what we all see?  And if you do, do you believe it, and accept it?

Let this be my gift to you, child . . . to both of you.  This is what I saw in Catherine’s face that night.  This is what we all see when she looks at you.  Believe it . . .

Blessing, child,
Elizabeth