We are so excited to get to celebrate our special day with you!

Dear Henry, I had known (of) your dad for a long time before I had ever hoped he would know my name. I remember his blue haired painting Sally Milici did hanging in the art room at the high school. There were multiple paintings of different people, but for some reason his is the one I remember. Every once in a while I would see him on scene of a fire, or helicopter crash, where he would do his deputy thing and I would do my fire thing, and I didn't think much more into it other than, "damn that boy is handsome". The week before our friends' wedding in August of 2019, I had gone out to help do yardwork in preparation for the ceremony, and he happened to be there helping as well. I couldn't help but hope that our yard prep tasks would overlap, but they never did. I just watched him from afar with Natasha and Ryder and saw what a wonderful dad he was. I think I fell in love with him right then. Finally, the next weekend at the reception, my life changed forever. The night all kind of blurs together, but the moment I saw him standing by the garage with some of his pals is something I won't ever forget. He was laughing and having fun and I couldn't help but think that I had to get up the courage to go talk to him or I might miss out on something really big. It was like my heart knew before I did. So with some liquid courage and some good music, I went over and asked him for a dance. Thankfully he gladly accepted and we danced all night, even in the rain. The rest is history.

Dear Henry, So I'm told you will be curious about how I met your mother. Presumably, you'll be curious at some point later on in life. Well let me tell you the story. Sit back, crack open a beer and enjoy the 100 percent accurate recollection of factual events that led up to what is now your parents. I'll leave out some details to keep it PG. The first day I really met your mother we were struggling to the top of a snowy mountain ridge. We had gathered together unexpectedly to attempt to locate a helicopter pilot that had crashed into the hillside and had not responded to radio calls for his location. Your mom was there. She wore her best looking bunker gear in an attempt to impress me, or maybe in case there was a fire, but not likely. At one point she asked me what my call sign was. She meant my radio number, but in a slightly confusing rambling response, I told her "I'm David Fletcher." I'll be painfully honest, I was pleasantly surprised when she smirked and said "I know who you are." But questions can be pretty tough son, when asked by a pretty girl. That could have been our first date... but it wasn't, that was just wishful thinking on my part. Something about a horrible helicopter crash on a frozen mountain really sets the mood. I'm gunna level with you kid, your parents have a slightly twisted sense of humor, so romance could be the same. Long and short of that day was, well... not romantic. In fact it ended horribly, but in a weird way, I was hopeful because I knew it wasn't the last time I would see your mother. I just had to show up to every horrible accident and burning house, make myself useful and hope she pulled up in the big red truck.

Turns out we don't have that many bad accidents in Forks, and the ones that I was able to show up at, she either was busy or on a different side of the fire. As time passed on, chance matched us again, this time in preparation for a wedding. A mutual friend's wedding and the need for a few extra hands to prep for the big day brought a few volunteers out for free food, beer and a little lawn work. Your mom was there. She really dolled up this time. Riggin pants and a blue fire department t-shirt. We talked a few times at the wedding preparation that day, but not a lot. Mostly about the projects at hand for the wedding and a few glances exchanged in the circle of friends over a paper plate of BBQ. Unfortunately, we hadn't really gotten a chance to talk till the wedding. I sat directly in front of her during the wedding ceremony and admittedly was half distracted as she actually wore some fancy clothes. I'll spare you the details, but she looked amazing. I casually listened into her conversations with her friends, playing out my own responses in my head if for some weird reason I was brought into the conversation by chance and proximity. At the reception, I saw my opportunity in the form of a dance floor. It was for sure the "make it or break it" moment that she probably had no clue was going on in my head. We had chatted a couple times about the military and started a few good conversations. But as I got closer to building up the fortitude to dance, time began to slow a bit. That lump in the back of my throat started to swell. As best I can recall, while considering a dance with your mom, there was no sound whatsoever. No other people, no wedding music, no friends clinking glasses or the joyful sounds of kids laughing. Just her smile, curled hair and a cider beer. I'm told she first asked me to dance, but I feel like I asked months before, on the top of a snowy mountain.