An Open Letter to my Son

The world came to a halting stop one year ago. 

Fear and the unknown motivated the unthinkable. 

People hid. People banned together.  People banned against each other. 

Love was shown in creative ways.  Love was loud!

Heroes stepped up.  Heroes stepped out.  

Hate came parading in the streets. Violence reared its ugly head. 

People fell sick.  People died. 

People survived. People thrived.

Politics divided. Opinions ignited. 

Love united.

 

The world got too loud.  My brain needed quiet.  

My body needed peace.  

Because in me was a second heartbeat.

That heartbeat needed out, as we were told to stay in.  

to stay home, 

to stay safe. 

Fear was unspoken.

Loneliness a burden.

Time was barely passing.

But, the time came when we had to go.

 

A new life entered a world of masked faces. 

No visitors.  No balloons.  No passing the babe around.

But, it was ok.  

It was just your dad, you and me. 

And it was perfect.

It was quiet.  It was peaceful. 

I inhaled you in.  Held you close.  My world was you now.

 

Still around me,

death tolls rising, sickness spreading, fear driving, mental health suffering, people losing,

and voices screaming over the noise for change.

Division seen everywhere I look.  

But, love is still fighting.  Hope is still persisting.  Change is still happening.

 

A year has passed.  Knowledge has been gained. Protections put in place.

Lines of strangers are united over a needle. An anecdote.  A solution.  A celebration.

But, there is still the unknown.  

There is always the unknown.

 

A year has passed

and in me, fear banished.  Hope still holds fast.

Hope for you to not know fear.

Hope for a healthy world.  

Hope for reunification.  

Hope for differences to be celebrated and not discriminated against. 

Hope for civility.

Hope for peace.

 

My hope is found in Jesus. 

And I pray that yours, one day, is too.

 

I sing to you every night from Numbers 6,

“Lord bless you and keep you, 

may His face shine upon you 

and be gracious to you, 

Lord turn His face toward you, 

and give you peace.”

 

I’ve been singing these words to you from the womb.

I used to cry from the relief of this prayer.

Now it only brings me joy. And hope. 

 

There are newspapers from the day you were born,

tucked away.

I pull them out now, already knowing the headlines I’ll see,

‘Social Distancing and All’, 

‘Pentagon, Navy in conflict over coronavirus cases on the Nimitz’, 

‘Surge in unemployment’

I tuck them back away.  Not to forget.  But, not to be my focus.

 

My focus is you. Let your dad and I build a world for you that is safe.

A world that is your family surrounding you with love.  

With peace.  With hope. 

 

Watching a little life grow and develop in front of my eyes is beautiful.

Seeing something ‘click’ for you is pure magic.

Hearing you laugh during a game of peek-a-boo is music.

Catching you dancing on your own is hilarious.

 

My hope is that you love Jesus. 

That you are a good friend. 

That you use your talents for good. 

And that you keep hope, even when the world is on its head.

 

Because, the world will be on its head again,

and again.  Your job is to never lose hope.

Don’t give in to fear.  And be a light in the darkness.

 

It’s been a year to remember, my sweet boy.