Letters For You

Hey You

February 1st, 2031

It's been so long since I've written a letter that I don't know where to start. My last letter was meant for you. It was dated February 18, 2018. It's been almost 15 years. Precisely, it's been 13 years. I have not spoken to you in writing for 13 Years. You know I've been talking to you a lot. I like to think that you can hear me one way or another when I talk to you. I always start by saying your name, as if I was trying to get your attention. Then I start telling you what I want to tell you. These are sometimes the most insignificant things like how my day went or what I did on my weekend, but often when I feel the need to talk to you, it is that something big is going on in my life. Like right now. I imagine that today is the biggest moment in my life since I lost you. Today's date is February 1st, 2031. Today, you would have turned 32 years old. It is also today that I gave birth to my daughter. When the doctor announced my delivery date, I dropped the glass of water I was holding. I started shaking. My whole body was shaking, but I didn't realize it right away. I didn't even notice that the doctor went to get a nurse for help. Later, I was told that I had not blinked for three good minutes. No one understood what was happening to me. Nobody but me. Even Josh didn't know what to do. He knows the date of your accident, but not your birthday. He knows the date of your accident because, every year, I spend the day with your family. We have lunch at IHop, go to the cemetery, then watch Lord of the Rings. I go back to the cemetery by myself before returning to Seattle. But, for your birthday, I'm not doing anything special anymore. I did it for a few years then, I decided to focus on the anniversary of your death. I always hated saying that, the anniversary of your death. Birthdays are supposed to be joyful. But I say it because there is nothing better. So, on your birthday, I think of you, I wish you a happy birthday, but I keep it to myself. It's our little secret and it suits me. At least it was. Now, Joshua knows the date of your birthday because it is also his daughter's birthday.

I remember asking the doctor what the likelihood was of giving birth on the scheduled date. 4 to 5%, that's all. It reassured me. In my head, that day belonged to you. I'm going to have to learn to share it because I'm part of the 4 to 5%. I gave birth at 7:49 pm on February 1, 2031 precisely 32 years 4 Hours and 32 minutes after you were born. I started crying when the contractions started this morning. I just wanted her to stay inside until midnight. The more the day progressed, the more I knew it was not going to happen. She wanted to come out today. She's so beautiful. The second I saw her, I knew she was the most beautiful baby in the world. I don't care if everyone thinks that, and if we ever have another child, this baby will be the most beautiful in the world too.

I called your mother when I knew I would give birth today. The moment I knew you were going to share your birthday with her, I just wanted to talk to your mother. She knew I was pregnant, but I had kept my due date to myself. I always had the hope that she would arrive before or after. She asked me if I wanted her to come to the hospital. I refused, I told her I was going to call her when it was over, so she could come and see her. I spoke to your mother on the phone for 20 minutes. She told me that she was my last gift from you, the most beautiful you had ever offered me. You offered me a life to replace yours. A little bit of your love that might not be like you, but that would allow me to keep you in my heart forever. Your mother was certain that my daughter was sending me a message that I was going to discover. I'm still waiting, but I'm not in a hurry. I have her whole life to find out. I was talking with your mother and at one point she asked me to look at the time. It was 3:17 pm. The time you were born. For a minute, none of us uttered a word. At 3:18, Your mother told me that she loved me and that she knew I was going to be the best mother in the world and then we said goodbye and she made me promise to call her tomorrow. I hung up when a nurse entered my room. She asked me if I wanted the epidural, the sting that removes some of the pain. I had planned to say yes, but I said no. I said no because I thought that the pain I experienced when my baby was born reflected the grief I felt when you died. I saw a way to get rid of some of this suffering, a way to free myself from the guilt I had of having another man's child on your birthday.

I should have said yes because giving birth hurts so much. I forgot how much I'm a sissy. Everything hurts, but I thought I could give birth in pain. Error. I've never hated you as much as I did for the next three hours. Your present was tearing me apart, literally. I forgave you as soon as I saw her though. If she really comes from you, she's really the best gift you've ever given me. Thank you. Thank you so much for the little piece of your love that sleeps next to me. I already thanked you for Josh, but I want to do it again. Thank you for putting him on my way. I owe you everything. My professional success, through the publication of Letters for You in 2018 and now my personal success, my family.

Tomorrow, a nurse will come and ask us to fill out the birth certificate and all the other necessary paperwork. Tomorrow, it will be official. We agreed an hour ago. In fact, it was Josh who proposed the name of our little princess. I started crying for the millionth time today. I had thought of that, but as a middle name. I didn't want to impose on him, but he looked so confident and happy that all my doubts flew away. You probably wonder how a control freak like me could spend 40 weeks without picking a name. We had names, Juliette, Sarah, Amelia, Ophelia. All very pretty names that our baby girl would have worn beautifully, but the one we chose is my favorite.

Tomorrow, I'll write on my daughter's birth certificate: Olivia Anne Conrad. In your memory and to honor the person who made us realize who this gift comes from. Olivia for you and Anne for your mother. I hope she will be proud of her name and, when she's old enough, we'll explain the story behind it. Thank you for this wonderful gift, my love. We will be eternally grateful.