"Dear Macie ..."
Most would consider it a waste of time to write a letter, let alone a note like this, to someone who’s not yet able to read, write, or even speak, someone who, just yesterday, celebrated the 4 month anniversary of their arrival on the planet. And, a few hours ago, I probably would’ve agreed with them. But, somewhere between miles 2 and 3 of my early morning walk, I was reminded that the folly actually rests in believing there will always be another time, a “better” time, a “right” time to say what’s on our hearts to those who matter most. It’s a fantasy, Macie, one that, if I’m to be honest, I indulged for far too long: the belief that there will always be tomorrow, heck that there will be another two seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, or years to say the things that matter - that the expression of meaningful thoughts, feelings, and words can wait. But, they can’t and they shouldn’t. Your mom taught me that – and so much more - by “swallowing” enough of all three for 3 lifetimes as, regrettably, have I - and so many others. Fortunately, she and I now know better. And, they say, “when you know better, you should do better.” So, here I am eager to ensure that, where you and I are concerned, a few “things” – important things – aren’t left unsaid.
First things first: Without addition or subtraction, you are beautiful beyond description. Everyone – family, friends, complete strangers at neighborhood mailboxes, servers at restaurants, cashiers at the local grocery store - comments on that, on your strikingly beautiful appearance: your eyes and eyelashes, your smile, the tone and texture of your skin, even the curiously adorable wisp of hair on the top of your ear, which I view as an affectionate homage to one of your four-legged “sister’s” most endearing traits. And, all of that is true. You are beautiful to look at, Macie. But, your real beauty resides in parts of you that no mirror will ever capture. I hope one day you see those unique pieces of you as clearly as I already do and that you’ll surround yourself will other “Noticers” who will not only see, but celebrate, nourish, and replenish them the way I long to: the well spring of joy in your heart, your tender, but feisty spirit, your quiet, but determined disposition, the many faces and phases of your already quirky and engaging personality, and your boundless curiosity. You have a warmth and calmness about you, Macie that are soul-soothing, a magnetic and infectious playfulness, a seemingly insatiable desire to share closeness, and a snugglability factor that is off the charts. The world will do its level best to convince you otherwise, to make you believe that there are missing or misfitting “pieces” of you, that you need a little more of this or a little less of that to be enough, to fit in. Don’t be misled. Wrap yourself instead in this word hug and cling to the truth about you.
Here's the second thing: You are cherished beyond measure and you have been since efore you were born. I hope you already know and feel that. But, if you’re anything like your mom and me, which I suspect you are, there likely will come a time (or two – thousand) when, for one reason or another, you will question, lose sight of, and maybe even refuse to believe it, which is why I want to give you a few word pictures of what YOU being cherished actually “looks” like, so that you can pull them out as a rainy day reminder. It looks like your mom fighting through hours-a-day nausea for months and your dad’s unwaveringly support of her and you every step of the way. It looks like enduring 36 hours of sometimes excruciating pain to bring an “I’m-actually-pretty-comfortable-right-where-I-am” you into the world. It looks like a desperate, around the clock team effort to get you to eat, when all your exhausted self wanted to do was sleep during your first 48 hours. It looks like tag team feedings in the midst of unpredictable work schedules. It looks like play time, tummy time, feeding time, bottle cleaning time, laundry time, consoling and comforting time, diaper changing time, being-thrown-up-on (all the) time – all in the same day – and getting up to do it all again the next. It looks like Nana commuting (daily) to ensure your every need is met and your heart is secure while mom and dad are at work – and Syeira asleep – with one eye open - outside your nursery room door at night. It looks like all that – and so much more.
Which brings me to the final “thing” (at least for now). You are a gift– to your mom and dad, to me, to Nana, and to a World in desperate need of all that you are: a living, breathing testament to answered prayer, to the sustaining, transforming, healing and redemptive power of sacrificial love, to innocence and authenticity, to the sanctity and preciousness of life itself, to the fruits of immeasurable courage, to the resiliency of the human body, spirit, to the spoils of never giving up – and others never giving up on you – even/especially in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, to where and who we all once were and need to find our way back to, and to hope for a brighter, gentler, softer, more compassionate tomorrow. There is so much already imbedded in your story, Macie – a story that is your parents’ to tell - and I hope one day they will. But, there is at least one piece of it that’s mine - and Nana’s - to tell and now is as good a time as any. Your mom has been through a lot in her life and Nana and I have too. Many times along the way – when things were very dark and appeared hopeless – she asked us how we could and why we would continue to love and stand by her, hold, comfort, and encourage her, keep offering our open arms to provide a moment’s respite in the midst of the storms swirling around her. I’m sure there was even a time or two where she gave us “permission” – maybe even insisted – that we walk away. Each time, my – and Nana’s - answer was the same: “Someday you will understand.”
The thing is: I wasn’t sure she ever would, but thanks to the gift of you, I think she finally does …
With All My Love, Papa Don
