A Letter on a Beautiful Day
I brought Luca home and gathered the gifts I'd prepared for the children at the cathedral.
I filled pretty bottles with colorful sugar-free candies, nestled them into red-and-white striped paper bags, and tied them with lovely ribbons.
It had only been two days since I'd last seen them, but whenever I went to pick up Reni, I always made a point of bringing something for the children there. Even if it was something small, I wanted them to know that there were people thinking of them — and to know the joy of receiving.
I bundled Luca into his coat and slipped on the bear mittens James had given him. He giggled.
"How is my son this cute? Who did you get those looks from, hmm?"
I planted kisses on both of his cheeks and we left the villa.
I drove slowly through the quiet streets and turned on the radio. These days I could hum along to the music and still manage to drive reasonably safely. The fact that my body no longer moved against my will at the wheel was proof enough that my driving had improved.
Luca enjoyed the ride, watching the scenery roll by. He pointed outside and shouted with delight.
"Oofua!"
"Oh? Is there a Rudolph out there?"
Had he remembered something Reni had told him? Or had he simply seen enough Rudolphs over the past few weeks that the word had stuck? Whatever the reason, it seemed clear our Luca was a little genius.
I parked at the cathedral, and the front door clicked open. Reni peeked out, wearing a white sweater with a red Rudolph on it. I smiled brightly and spread my arms wide toward him, and he came running at full speed, his face already crumpling with emotion. I dropped to one knee and scooped him up tight.
"My Reni. Daddy really missed you, huh?"
I kissed the top of his head and whispered it, and only then did he seem to fully relax, answering with a demure little smile.
"Yeah."
He hadn't come out wearing an outer coat, so I wrapped my scarf around him, pulled out the stroller, and settled him in with Luca.
"Auraadadya!"
"Heehee."
Already the brothers were teasing each other. I brought them inside, and the children came out to greet us — looking just a little plumper after only two days.
"Hello, Mister!"
Tony said, sticking his chest out for some reason. A penguin brooch was pinned to his front; clearly he wanted me to notice it.
Jennyfer skipped the greeting entirely and thrust her sketchbook at me.
"Mister, look at this! It's the Pink Princess Great Demon King!"
I praised each of them in turn until they looked thoroughly satisfied, then handed over the gifts I'd brought from home.
"Wow, they're so pretty!"
Jennyfer beamed at the jewel-like candies in their glass bottles, while Tony immediately grabbed a candy bottle and clung to the hem of the sister's skirt.
"Sister, may I eat the candy?"
He was asking permission instead of diving straight in — the sister had clearly been doing a fine job with their manners. I told her the candies were sugar-free, then collected Reni's things and headed out.
Once he was buckled into his car seat, Reni started singing, utterly delighted about something.
"Let's go home, let's go home, tooru-tooru…"
"Eua-ga, Lu-ya…"
Whatever song Reni had picked up from somewhere, Luca did his best to follow along. Of course he copied his big brother better than he ever copied Dad. And Reni, never one to miss an opportunity, started teaching him right then and there.
"Luca, try it. House! Hou-se!"
"Eu-ja!"
"Yes, home!"
"Iya-ja!"
"Yeah, that's it. We'll do even better tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay."
Between Reni's swift surrender and Luca's bold little answers, I couldn't help laughing out loud.
Reni spent his first short winter break thoroughly and well. The weather was cold and the boys were young, so we spent most of our time at home — and not once did he complain. He did the homework from kindergarten and, in the spare moments, took charge of his little brother's education.
"Okay, Luca! Say it after me? A-E-I-O-A!"
It was supposed to be "O-U," not "O-A," but we could let the small things slide.
"…Au-a!"
"Yes! A-E-Au-A!"
"Kyaaaak!"
Luca squealed with dolphin-like delight while Reni dissolved into giggles beside him. I came over with the toy that would handle today's playtime and sat down.
"Ah! Luca's birthday present!"
Reni recognized the unicorn bubble gun Greg had given Luca for his birthday and cried out happily.
"That's right. We're going to play with this today."
"But we play with it every day?"
Reni tilted his head from side to side as he asked, and I only gave him a meaningful little grin.
"Daddy's going to show you something fun. Reni, hold Luca's hand tight and watch, okay?"
"Okay!"
Reni answered brightly and clasped Luca's hand. I'd been thinking about how to catch the sunlight best so the bubbles would shine, so I went over by the terrace window and fired the bubble gun.
Pobo-bobo-bong…!
Countless rainbow-shimmering bubbles rose in front of the window and drifted gently down.
"…Wooow!"
"…Kyaaaak!"
Pobo-bobong! Pobo-bobo-bong!
I aimed a few closer to where the boys were sitting, and both of them stretched out their hands, trying to catch them.
"Kyaak!"
"Ahaha!"
Of course they couldn't catch many — and of course that didn't matter at all.
Bubbles glittering in the dazzling winter sunlight. The warm glow of Christmas lights. And brighter still — the children's eyes, sparkling.
A clear, beautiful, radiant winter afternoon. A memory that would always sit warm in mine and the boys' hearts.
"Daaad, today was a really pretty day."
I stroked each of the boys' heads once and pulled the blankets over them inside the Christmas tent. Reni said it with a face full of pure happiness.
"Yeah. I think it was a really pretty day for Daddy, too."
Honestly, every day I spend with you two is a pretty day.
Luca, worn out from how hard he'd played, was already drifting into a soft, hazy sleep. I kissed each of their foreheads in turn and eased myself out of the tent. Then I moved through the living room, putting the house back in order. Ever since the boys had started sleeping in the tent, they often drifted off to the sounds of me doing the housework, as if it were a lullaby.
I washed the dishes from dinner, slid the picture books back onto the shelf, and put the toys away. I sorted today's laundry into the machine, checked that the boys were still asleep, and went to wash up. When I came out, they were still breathing soft and even. I sat on the sofa and pressed the towel into my hair, drying it bit by bit.
And so another day came to a close.
The boys didn't understand dates yet, so they had no idea — but today was the first day of the new year. Every day was precious; I didn't feel the need to explain the adult habit of dividing one day from the last into "old year" and "new." Still, there was nothing wrong with the grown-up impulse to make a fresh resolve, to wish one another happiness and believe that good days lay ahead…
I thought it over for a moment, then set out the stationery, ink, and dip pen I'd received as a gift, and turned on the camera. I checked the framing on my laptop screen, then went live.
Even without any advance notice, people poured into the stream right away. I waved at them over the letter paper, then began to write my New Year's greeting.
Hello, everyone.
The new year has dawned, and already that first day is drawing to a close.
Did you all spend the first day of this year happily?
Some of you surely did, and some of you surely did not.
There will be those among you who spent a day radiant with happiness — and those spending sorrowful days, learning with painful clarity how precious an ordinary, uneventful day can be.
The truth is, I spent a very happy day today. But I also remember the days that weren't, very well. That is probably why today's happiness feels so precious.
And that is why I came to write you this letter. For those of you who are happy, I could not be more glad. But for those of you who may not be having such a day — I hoped this might be a small comfort.
There was a time when this season made me truly unhappy.
The glittering lights and hopeful words all felt like lies. It was as if the world itself were deceiving me.
Nothing was all right — and yet it was the season when you were supposed to force yourself to be all right, to be happy.
At Christmas, on New Year's Eve, people pray for an untroubled, happy life, don't they?
But I so hated the prayers urged on me by people no different from my own parents.
I believed prayer accomplished nothing in the end.
Because long before that, I had already been praying in secret every single day.
Hoping for a miracle I could tell no one about, I would clasp my hands tight every night before sleep and pray until I drifted off.
But for a very long time, not a single one of those prayers was answered.
So I stopped praying.
I may have mentioned this before — I stopped writing letters, too.
Prayers without answers. Letters without replies. I grew sick of it all. I came to hate everything.
I had prayed that desperately, after all.
But these days, I do both of those things again.
I've come to think that perhaps the answers I've been waiting for simply do not arrive at once — that they find their way to me in the end all the same.
I began to wonder if the answers to the prayers I made so fervently might come to me at all sorts of times, in all sorts of forms.
To say "just hang on" would be far too irresponsible a thing to say.
And yet these days I believe that if you hang on, somehow an answer does come.
And one day, reading a wordless reply that had found its way to me, I also wondered whether I might have been asking the wrong questions all along.
There were times when I stepped back a little from the path I'd been walking, looked behind me, and thought — perhaps I simply had to walk this far.
Perhaps everything that once felt like wasted effort was something I needed after all.
That thought came to me.
I don't think I'll be able to judge whether these thoughts are right or wrong until this journey is over.
Until the whole puzzle is put together, it doesn't seem like a picture I can understand.
But if, in order to see that finished picture, I pick up one more piece today — then I think that is enough.
Even if today's piece of your puzzle is terribly heavy and sad — please don't grieve too much.
Even if today's piece of your puzzle is terribly painful and full of resentment — please don't throw that piece away.
We all have one picture we must complete. In time, we may find that every last piece was needed.
Even if it seems foolish…
I think we also need times when we believe, for no good reason, that one day we will receive an answer — that we will find one.
Unexpected love may find us. We may arrive at places we never imagined.
If the place where we stand now is not the place we expected, then the place where our future selves stand may not be the place we picture now, either.
Sometimes I think that not losing hope is the bravest thing of all.
Because it means rising above the pain that sorrow brings, and the resentment that fear brings.
I hope this year will be a year in which all of us become very brave.
May it be the start of a happy and courageous year for you.