Dear Evan:
I’m sorry I’ve been so impatient lately. I’m sorry I snap at you more than I should. I’m sorry that some days the bad outweighs the good.
I wish I had a good excuse. I’ve looked for one: I’m stretched thin at work; I’m not writing almost at all; I’m not running as much as I should; I’m getting too little sleep.
Your fifth birthday is in two weeks and a day. This morning I read an article about an NFL player who may lose a foot to MRSA, a medically resistant staph infection. It boggles my mind to think that you had a MRSA infection under your chin at eight days old. That you went through surgery at such a young age, spent a month and a half in NICU.
It boggles my mind that that infant, so close to death, is the lanky, intelligent near-5-year-old who keeps up a running monologue of questions while trying to figure out the world.
All you want to do is learn. You want to know it all. And because I’m so tired, I snap at you instead of being your guide to the world. I am sorry.
Last night, during one of my failed attempts to get you to sleep, I tucked you into bed, kissed your cheek and then asked for your hand. When you offered it, I kissed your hand and told you that any time you needed reassurance, that kiss would be ready and waiting.
“Daddy loves me,” you whispered, eyes closed, holding your hand to your cheek. “Daddy loves me. Daddy loves me.”
I love you,
Daddy
