YES, THAT'S LOVE

Dear Spike:

Your mother and I were sitting with friends on the front porch, enjoying some wine and chocolates. You were asleep — or so were thought.

Suddenly, the drapes flew open. Your tiny cherub face emerged at the bottom of the window. And at once, I could read your every emotion.

First, you were scared: You'd been wandering the house looking for us and you were beginning to panic. Next, you were relieved: We had not left you all alone; we were near. And finally, you were betrayed: We were having a party, without you.

In a heartbeat, I read that all on your face.

That's love, I think — when you know someone in that way. When you understand them so much that all it takes is the briefest of glances and you are connected to their emotions. Yes, that's love.

It was heartbreaking to see all of that in you, on that night. But it was so reaffirming. I felt good that I know you in this way. I felt like a good father.

In two weeks, I will be leaving you and your mother to go back to Iraq. In the grand scheme of things it is not a long trip; I will be gone for about two weeks. But I am frightened by all the ways in which we will miss each other while I am away. I am saddened to think that you might feel scared, lonely and abandoned. And I know you won't quite understand why I have to go away or where I have gone.

Already, I am wondering what I will read on your face when I return. Will it be joy? Relief? Fear? What will I know — in the blink of an eye — about the way you are feeling in that moment? And sadly, I suspect you'll be feeling a bit betrayed.

That's the trouble with love. It gives us immediate and vivid access to things that we are not always prepared to see, hear and feel.

Because, I think, you are starting to know me in the way that I know you, I probably don't need to tell you that I am going to miss you. Terribly.

And already, I cannot wait for the day I return. I cannot wait to see your face — whatever it may bring.

Love,
dad