For the past eight months, while you were physically in mommy’s belly, you lived in my mind. I want you to know that I never stopped thinking about you, even if I did not always show it. Throughout the day, you would come and go in my imagination, but I could feel that you were always there with me. You would come in different faces but with a constant soul. You would appear at different periods of your life too. I often saw you as a toddler, helping me set up my garden at the start of planting season, your little feet bent as you plant a lettuce. I also imagined you with your friends as a teenager, giggling and laughing, embarrassed by the sight of your old man. I would not give you hell, Stan, for how you would dress or do your hair. I was hopeful that your generation would live in a world where society would see you more for who you really would be: young, kind, smart, and black.

There are so many things that I wanted for you, Stan. I wanted you to learn jazz piano. At times, I would imagine you entertaining us in the living room during the holidays; I wanted you to master Haitian jazz. I wanted us to travel and see the world in all its beauty. I also wanted you to be a man of faith, someone who stands for something, someone with a heart for the destitute. I had hoped that you would live with purpose, that you would not be distracted by material gains. I know that you would have excelled in the sciences, but I also know that you would have grown up to be an artist in your own way. During a recent trip to Africa, I bought you a little handmade car; I think you would have liked it. It is corny, I know, just like daddy’s style.

Sometimes I wonder if you are not in a better place, Stan. As you would have come to find out, the world is a cruel place; and life, for its part, is a bittersweet rollercoaster ride. Yes, there are plenty of sunny moments, but often you rise just so you can fall back down again. I often treat the sunny moments with great suspicion, as I know that a storm is surely looming behind. Mommy calls this “cherophobia”; I had prayed that you would have her spirit. I also worried about the kind of world you would inherit, and how it would treat you. You would not always be treated fairly, just because of how you look and where you come from. But I was determined to stand by you and guide you through all the storms.

I will always love you, Stan, and you will always have a special place in my mind and heart. Holding you in my arms was one of the most magical moments of my life. As I wept and tears blurred my vision, for a flickering second, I thought you were smiling at me. I almost wished that the tears that fell on your cheeks would reanimate you, just like in the movies. But this is not a movie, is it? This not fiction. It is real life.

Goodbye for now, buddy. I want you to rest in peace. It was important to me that you rest in a quiet place surrounded by other little angels. I promise to always take care of mommy. As I continue to live and follow my purpose, wherever you are, I hope you can always be proud of me.

Love, Dad