The darkest night always ends with a bright and shining morning.
December 11, 2006
December 06, 2006
Pollock or Picasso?
Guest post from Evey (as dictated by Bill)
Life goes on...
It would seem, my son, my beautiful son, that you have discovered the joys of body art.
Generally, most major artists stick to media other than their own bodies on the grounds that it sells considerably better (Keith Haring being a notable exception to this rule). This is not by any means an attempt to discourage you from exploring each and every artistic opportunity you find (but please don't draw on any of daddy's electronic equipment using permanent markers).
I cannot express here how fervently I hope that you inherit your mother's gift for the artistic rather than my own (although your unauthorised modifications to my carefully calibrated subwoofer settings do not bode well for the future). I'm writing this post to you over the phone through the nimble fingers and nimbler mind of your wonderful mother.
I'm not sure how long I'm going to be away for, but I think of you, your bubbling laugh, your shining smile and your 1.8 second hugs every second of every day.
I'll be back to you as soon as the four winds permit.
But while I'm gone keep hold as tightly of this as I wish I could keep hold of you.
I love you.
Dad.
Life goes on...
It would seem, my son, my beautiful son, that you have discovered the joys of body art.
Generally, most major artists stick to media other than their own bodies on the grounds that it sells considerably better (Keith Haring being a notable exception to this rule). This is not by any means an attempt to discourage you from exploring each and every artistic opportunity you find (but please don't draw on any of daddy's electronic equipment using permanent markers).
I cannot express here how fervently I hope that you inherit your mother's gift for the artistic rather than my own (although your unauthorised modifications to my carefully calibrated subwoofer settings do not bode well for the future). I'm writing this post to you over the phone through the nimble fingers and nimbler mind of your wonderful mother.
I'm not sure how long I'm going to be away for, but I think of you, your bubbling laugh, your shining smile and your 1.8 second hugs every second of every day.
I'll be back to you as soon as the four winds permit.
But while I'm gone keep hold as tightly of this as I wish I could keep hold of you.
I love you.
Dad.
December 01, 2006
The long dark night
As with every alarming post on here, punkin, we should of course begin by saying that everything is under control. That forces for good and righteousness are in action, and that everything, punkin, is Going to Be OK.
It will not, however, be without its challenges.
Sometimes, through no fault of anyone, the darkness and the clouds roll in on you, and it doesn't seem like there's any way out. Sometimes, it seems like trying to wait through the dark night to the dawn of a new day, a brighter day, a day more full of sunshine is too long to bear.
Sometimes, it hits you in a wave, then another wave, then a crescendo, a building symphony of weight crashing on your head, without surcease or a chance to take a breath.
It's at these times, punkin, and especially at these times, that we must reach out to those who love us and ask for their help. It is at those times alone that we truly find out who's on our team.
A much wiser man than I once said that you will never know who's on your side until you ask them to go into bat. That's probably not the right quote, but I think the sentiment stands.
Your dad's a bit sick, and I'm going to go away for a little while. I might not see you for a few days. You should hold on tight to your mum, she's going to need those strong little arms around her neck and those glorious sloppy kisses more than ever. You should remember that you, Bramble, are the sunshine for us. You are the dawn that we look forward to (sometimes a little more literally than we would like, you ARE allowed to wake up after 6am you know).
And you, my wee monkey man, you are the lifeline to which I will cling while I'm gone.
You won't ever know how much I love you. One day I hope you'll read this (by now interminably lengthy) letter to you and begin to grasp just a tiny iota of what you mean to me, begin to take hold of the idea that I will be here for you, looking after you and over you and around you and behind you and in front of you, for the rest of your life.
Know at least for now that you're the one I'm here for. That my only job, the most important job anyone could ever have, is to be your dad.
And I plan to stick around for long enough to be able to tell these last words so that you'll understand.
I Love You.
It will not, however, be without its challenges.
Sometimes, through no fault of anyone, the darkness and the clouds roll in on you, and it doesn't seem like there's any way out. Sometimes, it seems like trying to wait through the dark night to the dawn of a new day, a brighter day, a day more full of sunshine is too long to bear.
Sometimes, it hits you in a wave, then another wave, then a crescendo, a building symphony of weight crashing on your head, without surcease or a chance to take a breath.
It's at these times, punkin, and especially at these times, that we must reach out to those who love us and ask for their help. It is at those times alone that we truly find out who's on our team.
A much wiser man than I once said that you will never know who's on your side until you ask them to go into bat. That's probably not the right quote, but I think the sentiment stands.
Your dad's a bit sick, and I'm going to go away for a little while. I might not see you for a few days. You should hold on tight to your mum, she's going to need those strong little arms around her neck and those glorious sloppy kisses more than ever. You should remember that you, Bramble, are the sunshine for us. You are the dawn that we look forward to (sometimes a little more literally than we would like, you ARE allowed to wake up after 6am you know).
And you, my wee monkey man, you are the lifeline to which I will cling while I'm gone.
You won't ever know how much I love you. One day I hope you'll read this (by now interminably lengthy) letter to you and begin to grasp just a tiny iota of what you mean to me, begin to take hold of the idea that I will be here for you, looking after you and over you and around you and behind you and in front of you, for the rest of your life.
Know at least for now that you're the one I'm here for. That my only job, the most important job anyone could ever have, is to be your dad.
And I plan to stick around for long enough to be able to tell these last words so that you'll understand.
I Love You.
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