Anyway, there is this series of books by Dean Koontz about a character named Odd Thomas. I bought Dad a copy of the first book for Christmas one year, a copy I probably still have, and he was so happy because it was the perfect gift for him. He LOVED it! It’s one of my favorites as well. The irony that it is about a man who can see and communicate with dead people is not lost on me, either.

The year Dad died, the second book came out, entitled Forever Odd. He would have loved it too. Dean Koontz was always one of his favorite writers, along with Louis L’Amour. One of my clearest memories of my dad is seeing him read a book by Koontz while stretched out on the couch. We would both spend hours in the same room, just reading, and then we’d talk about our books to each other and swap when we were done. I can’t remember a single time that Dad ever told me I was too young or too silly for a book. If I put it down, he didn’t say a word, just offered me another one.

I never realized what a big impact he had on my love for reading. My mother helped teach me how to read when I was three (going on four) and I’ve always been grateful. (Considering that she wasn’t entirely fluent in English at the time, I consider it quite the impressive feat!) I wish I could thank my father but I can thank my mother, so, thank you Mom!

I’m not sure what I was really going to write about. I lost my point in my tangent. I guess I really just wanted to say how much I thought about Dad today and how much I miss him. His birthday is in a month and for the first year since he died, I’ll be capable of going to his grave site to lay flowers…but I don’t think I’m ready. If I’ll ever be ready.

I don’t know. I’m going to bed. My heart hurts enough for one night.

I feel like I can’t do justice to any of those topics because my heart is torn in so many directions today. I am full of joy and pride in Joshua but pain and grief for my father, who would love to see his one and only grandchild.

I did call my Papi today and he loved it. I texted my stepdad (given our relationship and my feelings about Father’s Day in general, this seemed to be best). I will call my paternal grandfather tomorrow, when Noah is awake. I even managed to sign my father-in-law’s card when we spent time over there yesterday. I didn’t tear up once today, at least not until this entry.

It’s so strange, to feel such heartbreak and contentment simultaneously. I hope my husband understands why I need to dedicate this post to two men instead of one…and I hope he knows how special he is to Noah and me. We couldn’t ask for anyone better.

Happy Father’s Day, my dear Joshua…you are my heart and my soul mate.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I’ll always love you.

It also angers me, because I wanted so badly to write more about this pregnancy. I will be 25 weeks pregnant tomorrow and all I have written is that he is a boy, he is healthy and his name is Noah. I have not written about how beautiful being pregnant is, or how much I love feeling life growing inside of me. I have not written what it was like when I first felt him move, or how fascinating (on so many different levels) it is to watch my abdomen ripple when he’s restless. I have not written about how much I so want to keep him inside me because I don’t know how I can protect him on the outside, and yet how much I want to meet this little boy that has stolen my heart without ever really meeting.

I’m scared to write about it, because I don’t want him to be sixteen and reading these entries and thinking his mother is stupid – even though he will anyway, because that’s what teenage boys do, right? I’m scared to write that I have no idea what I’m doing because of all the looming threats that hang over our heads now as parents and guardians. Besides, I do know what I’m doing – it’s the parenting part that has me wondering (as I said to a friend) who makes this stuff up. A child will be dependent on me.

Me? A mother? Caregiver, yes. A mother…a mother is so much more. He is dependent on me on a physical level right now – what I eat, he eats and my body is a protective shield around his tiny, growing body. After he is born, though, he will be dependent on me for comfort, love, advice…protection. How can I keep the world from hurting him? From twisting the sweet, gentle boy I know he could be? It’s no secret the world is a harsh place, and I have to wonder if it’s selfish of me to have wanted so badly to bring a child into this world.

I don’t believe it is though, because at least by giving him life and a chance to live, he gets to see the beauty of the world that God created with all of its perfect imperfections…he gets to experience love and one day, maybe, the gift of fatherhood. I am looking forward to seeing his face light up with surprise and glee when he sees something that makes him happy and I am looking forward to kissing his boo-boos to make the pain go away (with the obligatory bandaid, of course) and just everything that I will (hopefully) get to experience as his mother.

It’s amazing what his little kicks can make me feel. How strong I now know I am, because my body is capable of growing and sustaining life, and soon, delivering it. It is amazing, the strength he gives me and our marriage and how easily he wipes away any apprehensive thoughts I have about losing my “freedom” because holding our son between us is so much more important to me than rushing out to the store at three in the morning (which I’m sure will happen, but not for the same reasons).