A letter to my daughter on the occasion of her birth.

Hello Helen,

I was wondering how it would feel to write to you. Would it be morbid? Or creepy? Or vain? I don’t really have an answer. I’m just rattling off words here. You were supposed to be born this week. And up until yesterday I thought I was holding it together reasonably well. Then your aunt Jennifer called to tell us she was pregnant, which is great news…but her timing could probably have been a little better.

To tell you the truth, I think most people have forgotten about what happened. Or that’s how it feels anyway. I guess it’s just one of those things that I think people can see as plain as day, because I carry it around with me all the time.

Do you know I can’t eat flavoured pretzels anymore? They were a part of a condolence basket that some people in your mother’s office sent to the house. I was eating some and all of a sudden I knew that if I ever had flavoured pretzels again I would only think of losing you.

I hate that story. But it sticks to me and I can’t forget it.

You have a song. (I have a song for everyone. It’s not something I do intentionally; it’s just a thing that seems to happen.)

Your mother’s song is So Sober by The Trews. Yours is Words & Fire by Sam Roberts. I’m keeping it Canadian I guess. I heard it when I started jogging after you passed away. I started crying in the middle of some unpaved road in the middle of Haliburton and I knew then that it would be your song. It pops up on my iPod from time to time and I’ll stare morosely at the wall for a bit, or if I’m alone I might tear up some.

For some reason I take a small modicum of comfort from the fact that a song reminds me of you, but absolutely none when I have the same recollection to a piece of food.

I’ll be happy to see the backside of 2012.

To first lose your great-grandfather and then you, it’s been more than I can take at times. I tend to react to bad news by barricading myself in a room and just being alone. (Its glorious) Unfortunately I don’t get to that anymore so I’ve had to find other outlets for my grief. I’ve been trying to pick up writing again. I was laying down a page or so every couple of days before we got the news and I’m trying to get back in the swing of things again. I’ve been exercising more. Being physically exhausted means I don’t have to feel so goddamn much.

And for a while there I thought I’d throw myself into work. I applied for my boss’ job and for a couple months I thought the position was mine for the taking. Getting the job was a really handy escape; I had lots of idea of what we could do differently. Unfortunately the position was filled by someone else and once again I felt like I had the rug pulled out from under me.

I put a lot of myself into trying to land that job, and without it I feel devoid of purpose. I badly need something to work towards, a reason for going through all this. Something just for me. Will it be writing? I sure hope so.

Because I think having a purpose would go a long way to filling up the emptiness that’s inside me. (I rewrote the previous sentences half a dozen times trying to come up with a way of expressing that sentiment without sounding so goddamn emo.) I just want something to strive towards, something to work for. And to be honest I don’t know what that is. I know the answer won’t just appear to me out of thin air, but I don’t even know the first step towards figuring it all out.

Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you right now.

Love,

Dad