my love,
there is a place in the world, where the virus does not touch. there is a place in the world where all things are eternal. there is a place in the world where everything that was once broken is shiny and new again without fracture. there is a place in the world where the trees of the forest sing to one another with limbs entwined. there is a place in the world where children ride ferocious blue bears with glee. there is a place in the world where flowers blossom never the same color twice. there is a place in the world where the sun literally caresses your cheek with the scent of honey. there is a place in the world where porcelain squirrels store food in the cupboards of the old. there is a place in the world where cliffs sprout slides into warm rivers for weary travelers. there is a place in a world where ants cheer the toils of bees as they hitch flights to and fro. there is a place in the world where dolphins teach chimpanzees the wonders of the sea. there is a place in the world where the steel of skyscrapers in vast cities are soft to the touch. there is a place in the world where men and women spontaneously disco to a beat everyone instinctively knows. there is a place in the world where cars at intersections are polite with one another and insist on “no, after you.” there is a place in the world where the next step instantly takes someone across continents.
does it sound familiar? does it echo something primal in your heart? oh wonderful girl, it should.
it’s where you came from.
love, always
2020.11.26

Can I dream of a world where we never had children
Where we walked the earth and turned the corners of a dozen cobblestoned streets
Where we huddled in the rain, in the snow, in the wind, in the breeze of a sunny day
Can I dream of a world where we had dozens of children
Where we couldn’t spread our arms wide enough to hug them all
Where we admired them from afar as they tousled and teased and taught one another
Can I dream of a world where we’re old but strong
Can I dream of a world where we’re young but weak
Can I dream of a world where there is no one else
Can I dream of a world where we made it all up

my love,

years, again and again. winter spring summer fall. again and again. end of summer brings the end of august.

the memory. never nervous, excited to get to the church. scolding me. dancing at the reception. reminding you to eat, smile on your face that outshined everything, saying, ok, ok, you’re right.

the flight to paris. at your mercy at the pharmacy because my ear was in pain from the pressure. walking for hours. taking the metro, working out the maps, listening to you, refusing to wait in line for the eiffel tower, walking in the louvre through the exit, the chunnel to london, the rain but sunny the next day, brighter than paris but we had no idea where to go to see what london had to offer. it accelerates, becomes a blur.

the birth of our daughter, watching her struggle to raise her neck, being told we couldn’t afford a split with a basement, feeling that this house was the one with the most potential, holding your hand on a long drive, the rush of our son, her holding him, sending him off to kindergarten, waiting in line for a ride at disney, being devastated by a looming layoff, the motel with spiders, laughing, crying, the cut of your hair, the lipstick that made you look a pristine sculpture.

years, again and again. winter spring summer fall. over and again, and i hold everything we have been and all we could still be. i hold time with you, over and again, so it never runs out.

it came and went, just like that.
the day, the week, the year.
And soon, eventually, hopefully slowly but it feels too quick: the months, the years, the decades, the life, this life.
we’re are living in a pandemic, people are protesting in the streets. wearing a mask has become a rallying cry. we have a president that engages with social media an par with a tween getting their first smartphone.
Over 10m worldwide, over 500k dead. A quarter of it here: 2.6m infected, 127k people dead.
the day came and went. the virus came but came again. the brutality came and will not stop. literal, figurative. the people came and went. some quickly, some slowly, a fair number suddenly, without pause, without a moment of reflection. surprise, you’re dead.
it came and they went.

ioanna,
at about 6, maybe 7 months, we were still at yiayia and papou’s house in the apartment upstairs, where you were outgrowing the bassinet quickly. I’d put you with your feet on the left and your head on the right side of it. I’d walk away, it was your nap time, baby must sleep, and you’d cry, annoyed. it was hard but dammit of course I gave in and I found you completely turned around. weren’t your feet over there and your head at the other end? am I suffering sleep deprivation? I worked nights at the time, slept even less than I do now. the next day, I made sure, head on the right, feet on the left and I walked out. you cried, etc, etc, I ignored it until you fell asleep and I snuck in and holy cow: head on the left, feet on the right. I looked at my hands, right hand head, left hand feet, but you were reversed. I was sure of it. did it again the next day and the same. how is this happening, how did your head end up where your feet were? you need to understand, this bassinet was narrow, very narrow, coffin narrow, another growth spurt and your legs would’ve hung over the lip of this thing.
so, as first born, all parenting is essentially an experiment. The next day, I put you in this just fitting bassinet and instead of walking away, I stayed in the room. you balling just a few feet away from me but I held fast. just when I could not bear it anymore, I see your tiny fingers over the lip. I see you grasping it, pulling yourself up, the bassinet shaking, tipping side to side, sit yourself up, perilously near the edge of this thing, wavering, and poof, tumbling over to the other side, head from right to left. just like that, literally head over heels, only three feet from the floor but it might as well as been a skyscraper for you.
another time, you were 3 or 4, we were at the playground, you were timid but eventually mustered up the courage to climbed up the slide by yourself. without my hand, without looking for me, it was the first time you didn’t. you had this smile on your face, so genuine, a breeze floating through your hair, you were looking at something in the distance, your future maybe. I saw it all then, I saw you belong to the world and it broke my heart. it’s hard to explain, I wanted to sweep you up into my arms and tell you that it was wonderful but terrible and you should never leave us, you should never grow up or old or have a life of your own, you were our life and you had to stay that way. but I was frozen, I was frozen by this moment of this shy girl finding confidence in herself, forgetting herself, being just herself in the world and my god, what a beautiful thing to see, to witness, to be a part of.
and yes, there was so much in between. reading batman comics, reading the Alice in WundLa book, or whatever it was, Captain Underpants, the China project, the jigsaw map, the explorer killed by pirates and the thing we tried to do with the map and magnets, playing piano while I worked out, playing tennis and bowling on the Wii, our arguments as you turned to your teenage years and we drifted, trying to figure out how to be close but also ourselves, playing in the pool in Florida in the rain, chasing you around the house, seeing you watch me destroy the wall to the room that would become the kitchen, helping me paint your room, disappointing you in one way or another over and over, singing to you, telling you stories as you drifted off to sleep, pushing you, challenging you, being amazed by your sense of humor, being enthralled with this child who became a girl and is now a lady.
but I keep coming back to that day, when you teetered on the edge of that bassinet, bobbling from right to left perilously close to the edge. it wasn’t you who fell head over heels at that moment: it was me, always.
love,
daddy
3/4/2020

Father’s Legacy

Father’s Legacy

Father’s Legacy

Father’s Legacy

Father’s Legacy