4/12/21
Dear Atlas,
It’s me, your Dad.
It’s a strange thing to wake up and worry that your best days are behind you. I wish somebody had told me about that chapter of the pre-Dad countdown. In many ways, I think this is a reflection on myself more than on the things I have to look forward to.
I understand these days what it feels like to have back pain, worry about a bill, celebrate a victory, patch a heartbreak, mourn a loss, and feel joy. These things all add up to a lot in my book, each in their own rightful tale.
You, however, are a chapter unknown to me. Despite my dreams of spending time with you, I feel the proverbial corner I’m turning in my life as I become your Father is much larger than I first anticipated.
In many ways I feel somewhat stuck between two present realities: what is and what is to come.
I want to be more than your Dad, Atlas. I want you to someday view me as one of the people who really helped you on your way in this life experience. As you get older, you’ll realize the “foundation” of you has been built by many wonderful people. But very few make it into your inner circle and stay there until you’re gone.
I lost my Dad, Atlas. Someday you’ll see pictures of him. I can’t tell you how painful it was to lose my own Dad. Now, I write to you as your Dad—knowing that sometime in the very near future, you and I will share our time together.
Somebody once told me, “I wish I could be the person I was before bad things happened to me.”
Right now, you’re about to enter the world. It’s my job, and your Mom’s, to raise you in a home where you are safe, have potential to grow, and don’t receive wounds from either of us due to our inability to handle our own pain.
Nothing bad has happened to you, Atlas. And I want to keep it that way—for the rest of your life, if I can.
Love,
Dad
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