I miss you. I think about you a lot. I talk to you when nobody else is around so I don’t seem crazy. I see kids who would’ve been born around the same time as you and I imagine how you’d look and act and sound. You have the most beautiful eyes in my dreams. I think, maybe you’d be kind of like that kid, or dress the same way as that other kid.

We moved in to a new house in December. I finally had to move your things, but I saved them for last and still haven’t looked inside. I put your things away in another closet at the new house, still unopened. I’m not sure that was a good idea or not. I planned to open them for months before we moved and couldn’t do it when it came time. I don’t see how putting them in a closet is going to encourage me to open them. I want to.

My idea of you has become a collection of fake happy memories in the life I’ve imagined you would have had. I see other little kids who should be your age and think about you experiencing things yourself, so I have replaced my saddest thoughts of your actual life with made-up thoughts of what you could have been. I haven’t figured out if that is healthy or not, either, but my thoughts are happier. I know opening your things will break that wall down again, and I’m not ready for that yet. I’ll get there.

We moved because you had a second younger sister on the way. She was born in March and she is perfect and healthy and beautiful. She has bright blue eyes and laughs whenever her big sister jumps. She is always calm, very curious, and looks up to her big sister very much. One day, I’ll tell them both about you and they will be so proud of their big brother.

A friend made some wall art for your sisters and you. A nice custom name plate with all of your first and middle names. Yours is mostly yellow with a flower in the middle. I don’t know where I’m going to put them, but they will all be together somewhere.

I’ve decided to build a park for you. I have a lot of ideas, but I’m not sure what is possible yet. I hope to have some progress for you next year. Help me out, if you can.

I’m doing my best to take care of your mother and sisters, just like I promised. I hope you’re proud of me. I’m so proud of you.

I love you.
Dad

I was going to write a poem this time, just to keep it different. That reminded me of when your aunt was in Cameroon for a long time and I sent her 100 letters. It took me two years and each one had a piece from a jigsaw puzzle and something I thought she’d enjoy reading. I’d send her lyrics, poems, stories, jokes, news, speeches, just whatever random thing I was thinking about at the time. Most of them were lost, but I think she liked the ones she got. The puzzle was a little cat and a duck. I thought about starting to do that, since maybe you’d rather read something else, but then I started writing this letter. I’m just going to keep going with it.

I’m still trying to be better for you. I had expected it to get easier eventually, but I’m giving up on that at this point. Nothing seems to be getting easier, so I’ll try harder. Your sister makes me so happy that I don’t cry as often, but it hurts to see her play with older kids, or even playing by herself. I can imagine her playing with you, and how much she’d look up to her big brother, and how much you’d love her. You were so perfect. She is just like you.

Your sister is so beautiful. She is growing up fast. Everyone says she is adorable and how she looks like me, which doesn’t seem possible, but it’s true. I bet you would’ve looked like me, too. She likes bubbles and dogs and she can put her own shoes on, even the ones with the straps. She loves her mom and Nana and Grampa so much. She knows what a cow says, and she can count to one. We’re still working on two, but she already has five and eight down so we’re almost there. I tell her I love her and kiss her as often as I can. I did the same with you, I just didn’t have as many chances. I think of you every time I see her and I love you just as much.

Your Great Grandma Betty died on the 21st. You technically met her once, when we visited while your mom was pregnant with you. She gave me a bunch of tools that I haven’t really used much yet, but she was excited to meet you. Maybe you’ll see her around. She loved you.

I still haven’t moved your box. I reached for it once, meaning to move it, but then I didn’t know where I’d put it, so I just left it. It’s fine where it is, really, but I promise I’ll be strong enough to open it soon.

I’ll get to work on that poem. Please watch over your sister and keep her safe.

I love you, Calvin.

Dad