My dearest I.S. Ruben,
Son, tonight, like most nights before you go to bed, you gently opened my door and said, “Good night, Dad. I love you, Dad. Sleep well, Dad.” And tonight, like most nights, I acknowledged you with a mumble, “Hmm, hmm, hmm.” I was so busy reading through other people’s comments and posts on Facebook and caring about their feelings and such that I didn’t even turn around to look at you as you were wishing me a good night sleep. “Oh, and by the way, I had to run home from the park because there was lightning and I was scared,” you added. My usual response was, “Hmmm.” Several hours later, as the house quieted down and as I lay in bed trying to sleep, I thought about you and the way I treated you earlier. I tried to imagine how you must have felt when the only most treasured thing you can possibly give me, the assurance of your unconditional love for me, was fallen on my deaf ears. I got up and went to your room and peeked in. You were already asleep so I went back to my room and I thought some more about you and how you seem to bring sunshine into my darkest days and how you always seem to remind me that the problems and low points in my life are very small in comparison to your problems and your lows. And I thought, then how come you always manage to smile and infect other people, me included, with that killer smile of yours? Where do you find all the strengths and power to smile and find humor and happiness even in the face of adversity? How do you manage to hide your sorrow, sadness and vulnerability? So, I sat back up and started to write down these thoughts that I have about you and the way I feel about you. I hope that you will forgive me for being such an a**hole of a father.
It seems like only yesterday when the doctor told me that you had to come out because your mom was not healthy enough to carry you to the full 9-month term. So, you were C-sec'd out two months early. I still remember helplessly watching you through the incubator as you struggled to breath, with tubes in your face and IV needles in your veins, trying to make sense of what had just happened. I prayed constantly during those trying times. I prayed for your mom and I prayed for you. You were so fragile that I flinched every time the nurses moved you, thinking they might hurt you. I was so happy when they finally took off the tubes and IV and let me hold your tiny body for the first time. Your tiny head could fit inside the palm of my hand. As I held you and cradled you in my arms, I thank God for giving us another son. In that ward at the Chuuk Hospital, I made another promise, just like the ones I made when your older siblings were born. I promised that I will love you with all my heart, my soul and my being. You smiled and then you arched your left eyebrow--a feat non of us except your mom can duplicate--then closed your eyes and went back to sleep.
So, tonight, I reaffirm that promise: Sometimes I may not show it but know this, son: I love you forever.
