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On Wednesday, June 7th, Dylan Green deWilde was born. I wrote this letter to help her understand why.
Dear Dylan,
Welcome to the world.
Two years ago, I wrote a letter to your newborn brother, Cooper, and it only feels right that I commemorate your first days on earth in a similar fashion. Maybe you're wondering why I decided to write these letters in the first place. You're right to wonder.
Writing has never come easy to me. As a kid, I had weak motor skills, and I found that the act of writing took me much longer than other kids in my class. I dreaded writing essays and was certain that I would abandon writing as soon as I graduated from school.
But I could never quite give it up. That's because writing was the best way I found to consistently create and capture value from my thoughts.
There's something intoxicating about sharing artifacts of your ideas and learning that they resonate with others. It's the reason I spent a good part of my early adulthood writing stage and screenplays and the reason I've continued publishing this newsletter for the last four and a half years.
So, to answer why I'm writing this letter—it's because I can't think of any better use for my thoughts than to give them to you and your brother, hoping they make some kind of positive impact on your lives.
The day your Mom and I learned we were going to have a second baby was the same day we tested positive for COVID. I remember the pregnancy test and COVID test side by side on the kitchen counter, four pink lines revealing the contours of our present and future.
Despite feeling depleted from the COVID symptoms, we couldn't wait to tell friends and family. We showed your brother, Coop where his new sibling was incubating, and spent the next week trading ideas for baby names. Unfortunately, our joy didn’t last.
We learned we lost the baby four weeks later.
While miscarriage is common, the news gutted us both. She feared that something was wrong with her body, and I worried about her emotional state. We weren't sure where to go next.
You may be wondering why I'm using your birth letter to tell you about a baby who was never born.
Despite the sadness and grief we felt, we were determined to grow our family. While there was always the risk that we might have another miscarriage, your Mom is strong. The two of us don't let the fear of pain crowd out the pursuit of joy. So we tried again, and this time it worked. This time we got you.
It can be easy to take life for granted. Many of your hours on earth will be filled with monotonous chores and errands. You'll experience your share of heartbreak, loss, and despair. You may even have moments when you wonder whether you'd be better off if you were never born.
When thoughts like those appear, I hope you will remember the baby who was never born. All the things the baby never got to experience, so that you could. The feeling of warm sun, the sweet taste of ice cream, the overwhelming love that your Mom and I feel for you. I hope you'll remember that all those good things and plenty more are part of the package of life. You've been given a precious gift. Spend it wisely.
Your Mom and I are so excited to get to know you and to see what kind of person you grow up to be. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to be your dad. I won't take it for granted.
With all my love,
Dad
If you enjoyed this issue of the newsletter, I'd really appreciate it if you could forward it to a friend, family member, or colleague who you think might like it too.
Or, if you'd like to share it on one of your social networks, that’s always great as well.
Until next time,
Nick
Beautiful, poignant, searing. God bless Nick!
Congrats Nick, for the life-changing event, but also for the courage to write and share such emotions.