To Louie. From Dad.

L,

You would have been a year old today.  There would have been a lot of milestones and markers to celebrate over the past few months.  smiling, pooping, crawling, turning, laughing, feeding.  We would have seen what you liked and disliked.  Which foods, which colors, which uncles/aunties, and all of your weird habits and preferences.  You would, no doubt, have had some strange behaviors.  And your mom would probably be the one to point most of those out.

These days I have begun to think less on what your mom and I missed out on, but on what YOU missed out on.  The chance to tackle challenges and difficulties.  To figure out a puzzle.  To be satisfied with mastery over something.  To watch many sunsets.  Marvel and wonder at things that can’t be explained in the world.  There are so many wonderful things that I wish you had the chance to experience.

I know that I’ll always be a father and parent to you.  But it's all so cruel to be so separated from you.  What do I do with all hopes and dreams I had for you and for me?  

Here’s what I know.  When you came out, just 12 months ago, everything changed.  You came out with your shrunken chest and little limbs.  But also a whole head of hair and surprisingly pink and cute cheeks. I will always be the proud father of the perfect kid.  The few minutes we spent together was probably the most important of my life.  I’ve become a better husband, a better friend, and a more whole human being.  I will always be grateful for that.  

I imagine you up in heaven hanging out with your cousin Laura.  Causing mischievous with your friend Emmett.  Amusing my ye-ye, nai-nai, and wai-puo, wai-gong with your antics.  Tell Uncle Bernie and Uncle Jeff that they need to keep an eye on you until I can get there.  

happy birthday, my little buddy.  I miss you.