Dear Jack,

Yesterday was your birthday party. We went to Nick’s Cove in Tomales Bay, which has become a tradition, because at this point, the adults are still in charge and we like oysters, pink sparkling wine, and bloody marys. Nick’s is a great place for the whole family, though. You ate macaroni and cheese with dungeness crab, opened a few presents (“PURPLE MAMOKO!”), and then went fishing for seaweed out on the pier with Scarlett. It was a beautiful, sunny day and even a swarm of aggressive yellow jackets couldn’t ruin the fun. Deciding it was either us or them, we tried to get them drunk on apple juice…it’s a long story. No one got stung.

Afterward, we came back to my house for dinner, more presents, and a very ornate Frozen performance by you and Scarlett, which involved Pops hiding behind a blanket and sprinkling Styrofoam “snow” over the two of you while you spun, gyrated, and sang. It was certainly the highlight of my day.

It’s been my habit to write letters on your birthday, both to commemorate another year and so that you know how important you are to me. As my ALS progresses, I find myself wondering how many more letters I’ll be able to write to you, what the chances are that this will be the last one. If it is (and even if it’s not), there are a few things that you should know. 

1. Life is better with you in it. You make me smile every day, even when I don’t see you, and on those days when I don’t see you, I always miss you. I make your mom tell me stories, I stalk Instagram to witness your latest feats (tennis, baseball, basketball, drumming, theatrical facemaking). You have a lot of talents, and I would love to see how you continue to use them.

2. Reverse psychology works very well on you. If I ask for a kiss when you come to my house, you usually respond by wrinkling up your nose and either saying “NO” or just giving me a look (see above re. theatrical facemaking) that lets me know there is no chance in hell that I will be getting a kiss. So then I just say, “Don’t kiss me, Jack. Don’t let him kiss me, anyone!” And pretty soon I’m being covered with very wet, sloppy kisses. You’ll grow out of this, but for now I’ll continue to manipulate you.

3. I wish to know you for a long time. You are such a funny boy, who uses his expressive eyebrows to speak volumes (or just to ham up a situation.) You are kind, and generous with your toys. You have inherited your father’s desire to keep everything clean, which is really just a nice quality to have. You’ve never met a cheese you didn’t love, so we have that in common. I think we would have some fascinating conversations in our future if our future together were to be longer.

4. I thought I would be a different kind of aunt, just as I thought I would be a different kind of mom. I was diagnosed with ALS right before you were born. It has informed our relationship in such a major way, and although there’s nothing I can do about that, I want you to know that if I could pick you up and squeeze you, tickle you and throw you over my shoulders, run and dance with you…I would do it all the time.

Happy birthday, my best boy. You are three, and you have so much excitement ahead. Preschool is starting, there are new friends to make, there are trips to go on, there is cheese.

I will be here for you in any way that I can, for as long as I can, and I will never turn down a kiss, even when your nose is running. Now that’s love.

And I love you so much.
Ra-Ra

Share this post on your social platform