Father's Day Letter

My dearest Tim,

To Asa’s dad…

How empty this feels…to recognize this day is so painful and cuts to the heart of Asa’s absence.  Today we honor and recognize you as the father you are, though we weep that we physically do not have our dear son that gives fruit to that relationship.  I’m so sorry that Asa is not here with us.  I’m sorry you cannot be the father to him that you anticipated fulfilling in this life. 

Indeed, you wrote well that a mother’s heart is born in the dreams of her childhood as she plays with her dolls and imagines the joy of having children of her own someday.  And the bond between a mother and her child is something so unique, so treasured.  But just as a mother’s love is not suddenly hatched at birth, so your love as a father comes before a birthday.  For a father’s love begins through loving the child’s mother.  The act of procreation itself (in its purest form) is an act of love.  And lovingly, he literally gives a piece of himself and entrusts that part of him to the mother.  And as life begins in its miraculous process in the depths of the mother’s womb, the father gives to his child by giving to his/her mother, for she is his channel to that child.

And how well you loved me, and thus loved Asa while we had him with us!  How caringly you protected him as you protected me.  When you could not touch him, you touched me.  When you could not feed him, you fed me.  And when you could not heal him, you have journeyed with me in this broken path to healing.

He felt your touches, your gentle hand pressing to feel his kicks in the womb.  He heard your silly voice.  He loved you, Tim and I believe he still does, even more now.

And he continues to live because your father’s pride will not allow him to fully die in this life.  Though his body has left us, you preserve him in your precious love, your beautiful writing of him, the heaviness you feel in your heart when you realize life isn’t as it should be.

I was the first to know of his life, but you were the first to realize his death.  When we were in that fateful hospital room, I knew when I finally turned my head towards you and saw your face flush with tears.  You knew.  When his heart stopped beating, a piece of yours had stopped too.   For I had sustained his life for nine months, but you had given him life, and that part of you had mysteriously died.

As the months of pregnancy went along, I was honestly so nervous about going through the birthing process, and I didn’t know how you would hold up.  I thought my mom would end up taking over the “head coach” position and you would be secondary.  How wrong I was!  Wow—you could write the book on how to coach  your wife through delivery.  I was truly impressed, deeply amazed at your commitment, perseverance and deep love for me through those long and painful hours.  Thank you for never leaving my side and walking each and every painful step to bring Asa’s body into this world.

Any doubts or questions I had about you being a father were dispelled when I saw you holding our Asa in that rocking chair.  Just as you cater your strength to be tender towards me, so you gently held and rocked Asa.  In such strength and tenderness, he would have grown.  And I know you would have taught him so well….to love the Lord, to love people (and be present with them), to love God’s creation, to think about life rather than passively accepting everything without thought.  I imagine you would have been his first wrestling coach, his first running coach, and yet you would give him the freedom to pursue his own interests.  I would have encouraged your father-son dates from errand trips to the bank to play times at the park to camping expeditions as he got older.

You are an incredible father, Tim.  There are so few men who are ever put in this place, to father a stillborn son.  There are even fewer men who choose to embrace that role the way that you have.  Thank you for loving me well, for loving Asa well.

With deep love and sorrow,

Joanna