Instead of flicking on a light to read, I staggered through the quiet house and sat down at my computer. I intended to write Andrew an e-mail to tell him how deeply I missed him and how much I loved him. Sitting in the eerie glow of the computer, I was reminded, for whatever reason, of Andrew as an infant--and then as a wonderful young boy and an irrepressible teenager. Indeed, I was reminded of just how much I had loved him every day of his life, and of the breathtaking love I have for all three of my children.

Forty or so minutes after sitting down at the computer, I hadn't finished an e-mail to Andrew. But I had written a few stanzas in simple rhymed verse that turned out to be Only You. The text is just 162 words, only a few of which have changed from what I wrote on that long October night in 2001. The book is a love letter not only to Andrew but also to his siblings, Hannah and Henry Bayer--and to all children, who should know in their hearts (as well as their heads) what it is to be loved every minute of every day.

Sometimes a story simply lands full-blown in a writer's lap. When that's the case, it's important to be humble and grateful. I'm fortunate that Only You found me--and that I got up, alone in the dark, to catch it. When I went back to bed that night years ago, I slept soundly and awoke happy to see the dawn of a new day.

THE STORY BEHIND ONLY YOU

Sleeping poorly, I awoke in the middle of an October night in the dark weeks following 9/11. My oldest son, Andrew, was away at college near Philadelphia, and my heart ached for him because of the vast distance that separated us during the long, frightening days of that terrible time. We had chatted on the phone earlier in the evening, and I suppose I was all the more troubled because we had squabbled a little about something or other that now seems too inconsequential to even recall.