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I write letters to my infant son, Myles, sharing my journey as a first-time dad and spreading the love I didn't experience myself. If you’ve been here before — thank you for coming back. If you’re new here, the last few times I used video to document my journey being a dad
THREE YEARS OLD
Dear Myles,
This past weekend we celebrated your third birthday, which also means I’ve been writing these letters for just about three years now. It feels like just yesterday I was sitting in bed, playing it cool while your mother was in the bathroom taking another pregnancy test. After 2 years of trying to conceive, you learn how to carry grief for two.
I was prepared for her to walk out of the bathroom a little sadder than she walked in, disappointed by the little white stick she carried every time, showing one tick instead of two. I was prepared to hold her and tell her God is still listening, even though I questioned His ways myself.
I remember when she walked out of the bathroom and asked, “Do you want to know?” Her voice sounded just a little bit different this time.
This time was different because, this time, she was pregnant.
And as you began to steep and brew in your mother’s belly, at the same time something was brewing and steeping in me too.
You must remember, when we finally conceived, we were in Ethiopia. I was teaching and your mother was helping to run the school. We were planning to be there for two years, but two months into a two-year contract, God laughed and surprised us with you.
And in months, because your mother’s body was craving things that the land could not easily provide, we made the tough decision to leave and had to find a house, job, home here in Birmingham, AL.
And while that was not necessarily easy, provision is made when God finally says yes.
But truthfully, I struggled. And while your mother grieved the loss of her mother two months before you were born, I tried to string together words for what I was feeling about becoming a father.
Because with the immense joy of becoming a father came a deep sense of loneliness, a sense of unpreparedness. Not only was I in a new place, but it felt like I was going through it alone. And when you came, admittedly, those feelings worsened. And as I looked online, I found I wasn’t alone in this feeling.
When I finally made it through the muck of memes of fatherhood being a joke, I found the words and comments of many fathers sharing feelings of loneliness, isolation, and depression, trying to make sense of the kind of math that happens when 1 plus 1 becomes 3.
And while many men during paternal postpartum depression turn to a bottle or worse, I turned my hand to write.
While your small body slept in my arms, I wrote what it felt like to be holding the sun against your chest. Or how, when you yawned, we rushed to smell the foundry of your breath. I wrote what it felt like to see someone you love so much share that love with someone else.
I wrote what it felt like to hold my emotions under my tongue and let them fester like a canker sore because what your mother was dealing with she could not possibly carry anymore.
And the more I wrote to you, the more I realized I was writing to my inner child, because the sonogram never showed twins.
The more I wrote, the more I realized I was healing parts of myself that I didn’t know needed my words when I was younger. Some of them I cried over, wishing my own father had the capacity to love me this boldly, this fiercely, this abundantly.
The more I wrote, the more I understood him, you, and me.
And while every letter these past three years is meant for you for when you are older, so if I don’t make it to tell you myself, you do not have to hear from anyone else how much I loved you.
These letters, each of them, I hope serve as my eulogy: that not only was I here, and not only was I present, but that I loved you every day as if I knew I would die tomorrow.
Happy Birthday, my son. Thank you for showing up when I needed you most.
I love you, and there is nothing you can do about it.
Love,
Daddy
While I don't rely on people paying, these letters are a labor of love. All funds collected from writing these letters go towards Myles' college savings. Consider upgrading your subscription to help ensure Myles avoids student debt like his dad.
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The most recent one is a poem about self care - Child of the Moisturized
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