Letters for Madison

My dear Madison,

I wasn’t there the day you died. I’ve rarely uttered those words out loud, as if the audible noise reinforces the guilt of the statement. The grief told me I didn’t suffer enough. I felt the lack of my presence lessened my connection to you. I lived with that sentiment for years. Suffering was my penance. This mindset was so pervasive in me, that it took me years to heal the initial wounds. But it started with confronting the reality, I wasn’t there the day you died.

I need to take a deep breath after reading that back. It’s been nearly 15 years since I lost you and those thoughts still hold a heaviness in my heart. It’s not as raw of a feeling as it was, but it’s still there.

First, I need to say I’m sorry. I haven’t thought of you as much as I should at times. I’ve missed the mark of being the best dad I could be. And I didn’t manage the chaos that ensued as well as I could have. In contrast, I’ve grown in ways I didn’t imagine before I lost you. While I still think about what life would have looked like with you here, I consider the journey I’ve taken a gift. A quote that has stuck with me the last few months says, “I’ve learned to love the thing that I wish most didn’t happen. It’s a gift to exist. And with existence comes suffering.” 

There is so much I wish didn’t happen. I wish you were here. I wish I was there when you died. And I wish I did so many things different in the years that came after. Somehow I’ve learned to love it. I want to share with you that journey through these letters. What I’ve learned about myself, what I’ve learned about you, about loss and about community.

Many of my memories of those days are a blur now, but I’ll do my best to pull myself back into them for you. My hope is to honor you through these letters. This first letter is a bit heavier, so let’s end on something a little light-hearted. 

One of the first moments of joy I remember of you is the first time I told someone you existed.I was excited and so proud to be a girl dad again. I think my favorite part was telling people your name. I love your name: Madison Rae. I saw moments of your life flashing through my mind already, anticipating the life you would live. I have a different anticipation now – the legacy your name will hold.

I love you always,

Dad