Sometimes, little one, when I hold you and you squeeze me, I know there is no other moment where I feel closer to God, or to my own best self. You are a blessing beyond words to describe. You have absorbed all of the hardened limits I thought I had for myself. You put them into your littlest toe and wiggled them away.
In two days, you’ll hit yet another of the countless milestones poured from the infinite into your life like gold dust.
Sometimes, man, in the middle of the happiness, I remember I can’t joke with you via text. I mean, I can, but the number that was yours belongs to someone I don’t know. You and I would laugh about it, but I wouldn’t hear it, except in memory. You taught me to fight, and to stand, unapologetic in my “chaotic goodness.” I learned that term from Tony. I am a “chaotic good” in a lot of different levels. When you learn where that came from, you’d probably give me a side-eye that would rival Grace’s.
In three days you would have been 46 years old. Your wisdom is infinite now, and I still can’t believe your hugs are no longer available this side of heaven.
Battle ready
Battle over
I believe in you both
And there are no more magics
in my words to hold the worlds
of hope and loss and hope again
in two days and 46 years