Happy Father's Day

Dear Jeffrey,

Since you're not a big talker, I don't know if this day is as difficult for you as Mother's Day is for me, but while the pain in my heart isn't as bad today as it is on Mother's Day, my heart still breaks for you.

Today we celebrate fathers and for me, I cry silent tears for you, my dear husband for two reasons:

1. I mourn the loss of your father, a man I never had the special privilege to meet, who, I'm sure, is sitting in Heaven with my Pap paw and having a cold beer. 

On days that are most difficult to me, I like to close my eyes and picture our little Miller being watched over by my pap paw and your father.  I'm sure both men are teaching little Miller about farming and basketball!

2. I also mourn our child.  A child so deeply wanted and so horribly missed.  A child who we never got to hold, yet who has captured our souls and our hearts in just the few short weeks we knew of him. 

I wonder if on days when we celebrate fathers if you take a minute or two to reflect on what could have and what should have been.  I know you miss him as much as I do.

But even though we had to give him back almost as soon as he was given to us, we are parents, if only in our hearts.

Today, I want you to know what an incredible father you are.  No, we aren't in the midst of the terrible twos, we aren't trying to potty train, and we don't have a house full of toys but that doesn't mean you aren't a good father.

You became a good father the day we first walked into that clinic and began the process that we hoped would lead to us having a beautiful and healthy baby.  You became a good father every time you held my hand for each and every ultrasound.  You became a good father each time you let me cry when another month passed and treatment had failed.  You became a good father each time you made the trip to Wal-Mart for more ovulation/pregnancy tests.  You became a good father when you loved me through horrible Clomid induced mood swings.  You became a good father when I became pregnant and you made sure I didn't do anything that could hurt our child.  You became a good father the day we saw and heard Miller's heartbeat on that tiny little screen. 

You became a good father the day you sat in our home and sobbed when our child had died.  You became a good father when your cried for him and me and not yourself.  You became a good father the night the labor/miscarriage began.  You became a good father as you helped me back and forth from the bathroom, taking off work to care for me.  You became a good father when you let me scream out in sheer agony felt by both my heart breaking and my body through the contractions. You became a good father when you told me it was time to give my body a rest.  You became a good father the day you told me that my body was not able to do the things we prayed and longed for and that it was time to stop.  You became a good father when you put my needs first even though it meant you might never be the kind of father who gets to hold his child. 

And over the past two years, you've become an even greater father as you have walked with me, mourned with me, and now, as we have walked out of the valley of the shadow of death, we fear nothing.  We are over the bridge now and we're walking from the past to our future. 

You're becoming an even better father as you work hard on our home to make it beautiful for our home study and our future children who will be given to us by women who will perform the most selfless act possible.  You're becoming a better father each time we talk about the day when our home will echo the sounds of an infant crying for feedings, diaper changes, teething, and jabbers of baby talk.

Through all we have been through, I have seen you become a better man.  I don't always tell you this.  Honestly, I never tell you this.  I should.  I should tell you daily.  But we've lived a lifetime in a little over four years and had I married any other man, I don't think I would have made it to the other side of healing and happiness.  I most certainly would not have been able to face that which I have been dreading for years.  And not only did I face it but I welcomed it with an excitement and happiness I didn't know I could possess.  I don't feel broken anymore.  I feel whole, happy, and blessed. 

Blessed to be your wife.  Blessed to be the mother of Miller.  Blessed to be the mother of our future children through adoption.  But most of all, blessed that you are my best friend.

You are one hell of a father, Jeffrey.  And one day, this house will echo cries for 3am feedings, baby belly laughs, and the sighs of two completely exhausted people who didn't realize they could be so happy feeling so exhausted and sleep deprived.

Thank you for marrying me.  Thank you for loving me.  Thank you for giving me Miller.  Thank you for giving me a future.  Thank you for giving me a home.  Thank you for giving me a strong shoulder on which to cry.  Thank you for loving me through all the craziness, depression, and grief.  And most of all, thank you for never letting me give up on our hopes, dreams, and desires. 

You are today and will always be one awesome father.  I love you, Jeffrey Lyn. I love you so much more than yesterday and not anywhere close to how much I'll love you tomorrow. 

It is my hope, my dream, and my prayer, that two years from now, maybe even three, that Father's day will find you opening a home made card decorated by random crayon scribbles and tiny hand tracings.  That day is coming and while the journey will be long, difficult, expensive, and exhausting, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather walk with on this journey than you.

I love you!