To my Accomplice, on Father's Day

To My Life’s Accomplice,

Five years ago or so we walked through Hyde Park as friends. You talked about your desire to be a parent and to have a family. We walked too closely, as was our way, and I thought that I wanted to spend my life with you. It was more of a fancy than something to actualize because a life together felt improbable. You, deeply in love with the land of moss and fog, and me, rooted in my steely city. You were so moral and prim and I was always on verge of scandal – like in that moment – when I hooked my arm in yours and you left it at that. And it’s best that you did.

But months later when I was brave enough to say what I needed to say and you were permissive enough to hear it, we walked across my steely city with my arm hooked in your arm and by the time we reached the southern limits of downtown the sun was rising and I knew you would be my forever. A year later I committed myself to be your accomplice and we crossed the country to the land of wine and eternal spring (which was much closer to the land of moss and fog) so that you could take up your books.

We talked about starting a family and had many changes of heart between books and jobs before we arrived at the decisions that brought us Jonah - our little Tunesy. After months of trying and nine more months of waiting you became the father you always wanted to be at 12:37am on November 7^th, 2009. But before you could hold your daughter, your actualized dream, she was taken by women masked and draped in various shades of blue and green so that Jonah could find her breath and so that you could stand on the periphery of chaos speaking tender words of encouragement.

And you became a father first by learning how tenuous dreams can be when entrusted to the human body. And in spite of the threat of lost hope you held on with great confidence and stride - becoming expert in dosages and vital signs and inserting your heart into the rounds of well-meaning physicians who measured the state of our dreams based on the sounding alarms (or absence thereof) of machines. With pride you made sure they were aware of her tiny hand that moved to the sound of your voice and the way she tugged at her tubes that indicated to you she would be just fine.

Unlike those first days of fatherhood, our time as a family is light. As anyone can see, the ease of Jonah’s disposition and her quick ascent into laughter is evidence enough of your gift as a parent. You have in all ways exceeded my expectations of a partner and I am so fortunate to have you.

You once wrote when I was pregnant with Jonah and you were in Argentina: “I imagined our lives on this ever climbing path of richness and wonder. Not because all news will now and forever be good news, but because we have decided every day for the last three years (four years, really) to take on this life together. And because we decided to make that baby that is kicking and punching in there, and we will love it like nothing we've ever loved in our lives before. That, to me, feels like climbing toward greatness, on whatever scale.”

This is why I am so thankful that you’re my person, Eric, and why Jonah will always be quick to laugh and smile with such ease. You are what makes this path so meaningful and why our climb towards greatness, however challenging, will always feel like coming home.

Happy Father’s Day.

Wife

PS - since you are already a master of words, I thought it appropriate to give you a gift today that will help you rediscover your voice.