Dad often talked to Mom about the red string of fate. He explained to her that their worlds were meant to be shared, and had been cast together since their first steps. Separation and death would have no effect on the things that tied them together. I had scoffed at the romantism of it all, but secretly I had wished fo something like that myself, never knowing that bound around my ankle was a thread of my own, the other tied to you.
I didn’t know I was tied, when I was a little boy with my biological father, Dean, when he introduced me to a boy named, Anton. A boy only a few years older than me, but intent on killing me for sport. I was too young to remember our meeting, but you did.
I didn’t know I was tied, when for many years I was trapped in Seattle gazing at green walls assuming I’d never be free but wishing for so much more.
I didn’t know I was tied, when a person I though I’d never met before messaged me out of the blue asking who I was and questioning me about a life I could barely remember.
I didn’t know I was tied, when we were just two hurt and lonely people looking for a friend. Spending over a month talking each and every day, all day, in the worst of circumstances until we became close friends and in time something more.
Infact, I didn’t even know I was tied on New Years Day of 60, when we told each other vows, or when we split up, or when we fought bitterly. But it wasn’t until it seemed that all hope was lost that I felt the a tug at my foot, finding a red string, and following it until you were revealed to be at the other end. I always found it fitting that it took sitting with my father in his last days to realize what exactly you were and the role you’d play in my life.
I don’t know what all the future holds for us, and our beautiful families, and amazing children. I don’t know what joys and sadnesses will come or go, what highs and lows, what struggles and trials, but I do know that we will face them together. I love you.