We’ve had another Father’s Day, and another chance to thank you, amongst these busy days of early family life when your quiet and relentless support goes otherwise unnoticed. Not exactly unnoticed – I do see you – just unacknowledged.
I know life has been particularly tough for you lately – the ongoing struggle and increased pressures associated with your failing business; the expectations we have on you as father and provider; and the emotional strains you must bare when so much is out of your control.
I can’t imagine what it must feel like to carry that burden. But I can tell you what it feels like to be your wife, and the mother of your children. It feels safe, secure, and lovely. And you continue to humble me, and warm my heart – because with everything on your plate, with all that you face, I’ve never yet seen you come home with anything other than a smile to see us. Never grumpy, never angry, never irritable, or complaining.
I know that you’ve committed your life to us – to be there, to provide, to support, to give us your best and always put us first. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen – watching you honour your commitment without any need for acknowledgement. Please know that I’ve committed my own life to you, in all of the same ways – to always be there with open arms, providing you with unconditional love, supporting you with my honesty and loyalty, and always reminding you of your value, and of what matters most.
We didn’t have the money to spoil you with ‘treats,’ this year. But I hope the thoughts, the expressions of our love, and the quality time, have been enough for you to feel very much acknowledged and thanked.
I know you’ll say it was.
And that’s why I continue to feel so grateful that you asked me to marry you, and so proud of myself for selecting someone like you to have my children with.
Thanks for being who you are to us, Nick.
Perhaps when time permits, you might start to write some of your own words for us – sharing what it is that fatherhood means to you.
A quiet morning, with the children at their grandparents’. Bircher porridge to share, which I thoughtfully made for us the evening before, and time spent reflecting on all we’ve experienced and achieved since I peed on that stick.
Picking up our little ones, taking simple treats to my own Dad – another man who has dedicated his life to his family.
Father and son; taking your Beau to his weekly swimming lesson.
New PJs from the sale, because I knew you needed new ones; a jar of ‘quality time’ LEGO, each handwritten with an activity suggested by Beau – most of which is likely LEGO from your own boyhood; a couple of your favourite treats; the sweetest book with the loveliest message; and one of your favourite childhood books, which my mum let you borrow… because it happened to be one of our favourite childhood books, too. Special things.
Ending the day with your own Dad shouting us a takeaway, and Beau asking to take our picture.
I love you so much, Nick. These days are imperfectly wonderful.