Hey Cambria & Steve,
Think it's been about seven years since I jotted a few things down to pass along for you here. Today, I turn 36 and I cannot help but to reflect on how this life has felt like I'm staring out the side of the bullet train while trying to take in the nuanced beauty of the landscape on our honeymoon in Japan.
It feels impossible that this morning, after changing a smoke detector, my 7-year old baby girl walked into our room with two eggs on toast and coffee that your mom made since she wanted to give me breakfast in bed. Dressed in Bluey pajamas with messy hair and two front teeth missing, you came to cuddle after delivery and almost feel back asleep at my side. Poor Steve has a cough that sounds like he's been smoking his whole life but he hit me with a "love you daddy" and two years ago we weren't sure if he'd be able to say things like that to us.
Originally, my recollection of starting this was to record some thoughts & lessons that might hit different from a fatherless young man who you may find more relatable than your ancient dad who is just so out of touch with reality. Now, as I have become increasingly obsessed with appreciating, living in, and recording these precious & fleeting moments. Wrote in my journal this morning about how my heart yearns to bottle up the magical dopamine of these childhood moments to take hits of it twenty years from now when your mother & I are cuddled up in an empty house missing all the moments of sweetness, chaos, crying, and love. Having a challenging time trying to figure out what is the balance between being here, right now & being able to maintain the long-term perspective that let's you understand and appreciate just how much you'll be miss this, now.
Your mom sent a video montage of me that Steve Jobs put together for her, a tradition that I generally do for other people's birthdays. And while it is hard to see how many bad hairstyles I've had over that time - it's harder to be reminded of the people (and puppies) that we have already lost to time or illness. And even in the review of all those joyful moments of laughter with you guys, I am choked up knowing that while I can go back to look - I can never go back to live through a moment of that again. It makes me miss my friend who was robbed of his later years and regret any moment that wasn't spent just staring at you - bearing witness to the glory of your youth and your perfect, innocent souls.
I have been planning on coming back to this blog & even wrote it down as a "to-do" list item in my journal a few times but haven't mustered up the courage to think that anything I may write here would be of enough import to record but on my thirty-sixth birthday I am trying to take a dose of humility and conquer the (not so) quiet voice that says "you are here only to serve and observe" and accept that there may be a handful of people who feel the same way I do but in reverse.
Anyways, I hope the years between this entry and your reading this have been kind to you (and to us) and that you can rest in a moment knowing that you are so fully & completely loved by another soul. I also hope to pump out a few words for you to gaze at with a bit more frequency than once every 6 or 7 years.
Love always,
Dad
