The TriDad Life

Dear Beanpod,

Yesterday, we marked 8 months since you came into our life. It’s easy to say that nothing has been the same since. What I can say from my vantage point now is that at a fundamental level, that is completely true. Every day is fundamentally different for your Mom and I before there was you.

But what’s also true is that you, me, and your Mom, we are all catching each other at this moment time. Not everything we had before has disappeared. We’ve adjusted. Calibration seems to be the name of the game. We don’t always get it right, but my sense as I think about our life on the whole right now is that we are tremendously happy. I’m not sure there could be more to want from life.

I’ve been sitting on this thing I wanted to write to you about for a few months now. The pace of life is getting faster and faster, and as expected, the time for writing has ebbed and flowed. But here we are again, a moment in time to grasp.

A couple months ago, we took a trip to visit your Uncle Brad, Aunt Christy, and cousin Noelle in Cincinnati. We always have enjoyed visiting, but now with kids, each trip seems to be bigger. We’re going through a lot of firsts. Watching you and Noelle interact in these first moments is hard to put into words. I look around at the adults, and I see so much wonderment. The simplest things – a little wave of a hand, a quick smile – are now what we value most.

As luck would have it, something else coincided with our visit to Cincinnati. A total solar eclipse, which happens when the moon crosses perfectly between the Earth and the sun, was set to pass through southern Ohio on April 8th, right at the end of our trip. It’s something that happens quite regularly in the three-body orbital rotation between the Earth, moon, and sun – about once every two to 5 years – but it is rare compared to any one point on Earth. To put it in perspective, the last time a total solar eclipse passed through Ohio was in 1806, and will not do so again until 2099, another 75 years from now.

I’d seen eclipses before, but only partial. I had never seen a total solar eclipse, when the moon covers 100% of the sun during the middle of the day. By all accounts, it was something to behold, and your Dad found no coincidence in knowing that we’d be near the path of totality when it would pass through.

That afternoon, on our way back up to Michigan, you, me, your Mom, and Grandma and Grandpa Redford packed up in the family van, and found a small park in Hamilton, Ohio, squarely within the 124-mile span in which the path of totality could be viewed. We parked, set up our camp, and waited as we saw car after car, family after family, drive down and settle in, to look up at the sky, and wait to witness something most of us couldn’t fully comprehend. The excitement and the sense of mystery was palpable. It felt big.

Slowly, but surely, it started happening. Little by little, the curved shadow of the moon grazed over the big, bright, burning ball in the sky. Taking breaks from looking through our solar-protected lenses as the coverage of the sun moved from 25%, to 50%, to 75%, you could see everyone else was doing the same. The excited chatter brought us all together. We were sharing in something important.

Many of the things they said about what would happen were true. The air cooled, the sky darkened, and the chatter hushed. Finally, through our glasses, we saw the sun give way, no sliver of light to be seen, and with trepidation, we gave in, too, removing our glasses to behold what was left in the sky.

In my life, I’ve had the chance to witness some amazing moments. I’ve seen the beauty of this Earth that we call home. I’ve experienced the great things that people can accomplish when they work together. I’ve known the love and compassion of human beings.

The sixty or so seconds that I took in the moon sitting perfectly between us and the sun, radiating a perfect white halo in the sky while darkening a beautiful mid-spring day, reached me in a profound way.

What I thought about in that moment, and what I think about when my mind wanders back, is just how rare it is to simply confront the reality of our location in this endless expanse called the universe. We drive our cars, we go to work, we do this, we do that. We fight, we love, we create, we destroy. But all the while, we’re just sitting here on this floating ball, which is just dancing around other floating balls, floating around each other. That’s just, I mean…wild. And humbling. I mean, what do our machinations mean in the grand expanse of this big place anyways, amongst all these floating balls?

The totality that I witnessed along with you, and your Mom, and your Grandma and Grandpa, also makes me think about something else. It reminds me that while there is so much about our life here that isn’t right, all the conflict, all the violence, the disease, the wars, the inequality, there is a foundation in perfection that makes anything and everything possible. After all, it really was an exact moment of perfection, just like when the moon passed so perfectly in front of the sun for those 60 seconds, that resulted in you coming into existence.

Maybe the conclusions your Dad is drawing from this experience is a stretch. But then again, I think it’s just a matter of perspective. Life on Earth is imperfect, but do we need to be defined by our lowest common denominator? Witnessing the totality inspired me. If we dared ourselves to believe that the nature of creation is perfection, when we see things come together just right, we can find solace in knowing that we still just have more to understand, and we’ll never grasp that understanding fully here on Earth. That’s what makes something like the totality so special – a glimpse of the true nature of things, when looked at a certain way.

Well, beanpod, I’ve probably gone down this rabbit hole far enough. I’m keeping the dream alive through sci-fi novels and going to church. I’m still here driving my car, going to work, and enjoying our little glimpses of perfection as we watch you grow. I know it won’t always be perfect, but I do believe that in our life, we are always part of something way bigger than ourselves. Most people seem to agree on that if you get them to talk about it. It was pretty cool to see it so vividly, even for a brief moment. And I wanted you to know that you were there.

Maybe we’ll take a trip to see the totality again together when you are a little older and can experience it more fully – I don’t think we should wait until 2099!

Love,

Dad