Letter to Oliver – 001 đź“ť
001 – Letter to Oliver from Dad.
Dear Ollie,
It’s been a long week buddy. And it’s only Wednesday.
Saturday and Sunday we had good days and quiet, calm, happy bedtimes. The last three days, not so much.
You’ve been fussy and cried and screamed in our faces in the morning and the afternoon and at bedtime… and that’s been hard. And not very fun for anyone.
But in between you’ve smiled and laughed and your grandma Cheryl came to visit and it’s been as good as it can get. Those are the moments I’ve been trying to focus on and hold onto and recreate.
Heck, your mom took one of our new favourite photos when you laid in bed beside me last night and we read poems from Falling Up. It’s adorable.
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But 20 minutes later, you and I were out the door to walk for 45 minutes because you wouldn’t go to sleep, or stop screaming and crying. We walked to the corner and crossed the street and walked back up passed the park and to the next street and past the community centre and through the park to meet your mommy at the front door when we got home.
It was weird and calming to both of us I guess when I started singing the chorus of I Am The Light Of The World to you. I’m sure you’d never heard it before. I don’t know why it popped into my head. But you stopped crying. And then you started again when I stopped. So I Googled the words and I sang the whole thing to you… and then you fell asleep.
I haven’t told your grandma about that yet. But I’m sure I will.
It’s also been a long week because I’ve been missing your grandpa a lot. I’m not sure why. But I have. And everytime I do it hurts. I wished so badly that I could have called him on Monday night when we were walking and trying to get you to sleep. I cried as I talked out loud to him on Tuesday afternoon. I am sad thinking about the great photos and videos that we take and share with the world, but that he’ll never see.
I miss him. And I love him. And sometimes when I look in your brown eyes and see your brown hair coming in, I think of him.
I also think of him when you are smiling and giggling and being silly, because he was a good grandpa and would have made that happen every chance he got.
Sometimes when you’re crying, I beg you to stop and be calm and happy because we’ve rocked you and fed you and cuddled you and don’t know what else to do. Sometimes I just hold you and tell you I love you and hope that will help. It doesn’t, but I’m always glad to be able to tell you.
And sometimes me and your mom just keep trying and trying and trying (she’s really good at that) until you stop and go to sleep.
I’m writing this right now in the office and you’re on the couch with your mama. You smiled and giggled when she got home from work and then you cuddled in to eat and sleep and rest with her as soon as you could. I’m glad for that too.
We’re lucky to have her.
It’s time to have dinner now and get ready to try and wind today down and then it’s bedtime. Fingers crossed.
I love you. Very much.
– Dad
