Simeon David

My dear, sweet boy...

You are joy to me.  I remember so vividly your entrance into the world, the earthy and primal and impossible all encapsulated into that fleeting eternity, one fist at your face as though to declare your victory, or maybe just to reach towards the hands of the midwife who unstuck your frame from mine and pulled your blue little body onto my chest so I could rub your back, like so many little stubborn blue bodies before yours, because for some reason nascent newborn souls sometimes need that coaxing before latching firmly onto this mortal world.

 “Breathe, baby,” I said, and then you did. I don’t remember joy at that moment, exactly. But I remember it being right. Righted. And like a little hobbit once did, I marveled that all the sad things seemed to be coming untrue.

The nine months that I carried you were some of the hardest I have ever experienced. Truly, I wondered at times if I would survive it. I wondered if that which makes me human would simply fail to wake up one morning-- if it was possible to become so depleted, so warped by others’ insistence that our motives were impure, our love insufficient, our pain unfounded, our perceptions invalid—if ultimately Reality would shift and fold onto itself, removing me from it altogether. Not because of you. You, my love, were my constant unceasing unyielding companion. You forbade me from claiming isolation, because even when I retreated within myself, you were there. Even as the impossible road unfolded before us, even as so much fear and death were spoken over you as our world reacted to our then-plan to welcome you into our arms in our then-home, even as all the material and temporal that we held dear was wrenched from our grasp, even as every definition of “home” and “family” and “hope” and “fear” and “loss” and “repentance” and “forgiveness” and “pain” demanded refashioning—you were there, steady and strong, not to fill a hole or bear a burden but to whisper love in spite of it all.

And you were there for those moments of uncommon kindness, when steady souls touched ours and reminded us that while not all that glitters is gold, some of it is. The gilded can disappoint, deceive, and bankrupt. But there is still the good and true.

Listening. That’s what your first name means. A very long time ago, in a dusty temple on the other side of the world, a man who had received a promise sat, and waited, and listened. He waited for redemption. He waited for rescue. He waited for the sad to come untrue. He waited and listened, eschewing all else, to look upon the face of Jesus. He had been promised that sight, and it was all he really needed.

"Lord, now your servant may depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to your people Israel."  

My love, may you also look upon and recognize that face.

And your middle name, David, means beloved. It is your father’s name. I don’t quite have the words to clearly impart to you the depth and measure of his love for you, or mine for him. I suppose instead you shall just have to observe it.


One relationship that simply begs to be expounded upon though is you and your big sister. She adores you. She fawns over your every squeak and wiggle. From the second she knew you existed, she said she wanted a little brother (though to be fair, what she actually said was, “I want a little brother and I want two!”). As we waited for your arrival, she would listen to your heartbeat and exclaim at how happy it sounded. Then she would listen to mine. “It says ‘Love-You, Love-You, Love-You,’ she would say, and I treasured up that thought-- that your little soul was growing inside of me with that song in your ear. She is proud and protective, without an ounce of jealousy or resentment. I’m sure you’ll have your moments as the two of you grow older. But I hope you’re also dear friends, eternally and sincerely grateful for the presence of the other in your life.

Simeon David Suell, I have loved you across multiple continents, two homes, and a dizzying number of temporary residences. In six short weeks we’ll move again. Heaven only knows where the future may take us. But love is borderless, and so wherever we go, wherever we land, wherever you frolic off to without us someday, I hope you remember the sound of my heartbeat.

Love-You. Love-You. Love-You.