The monsters¹ took him.
No, [name redacted], I don’t know if the monsters ate him. Maybe they just made him one of their own. Or maybe they groomed him to take over their empire. Like the Dread Pirate Roberts². He also could be working very hard to free himself and find his way to you.
These are all possibilities.
He could make magic. He could animate dinosaurs. He knew how to rewire small worlds. He knew how to make people love him.
Someday, I hope you are one of them.
We were together as long as you’ve been alive.
I didn’t notice he hadn’t grown up… I didn’t notice what he’d grown up to become, until you were already a bean, sprouting.
We talked about you often, before. There were things he wanted for you: a home with a “shooting wall,” where once a year he’d film you, answering interview questions, so that when you were a grownup, you could watch yourself reason and gesture as a child. He wished you groundedness, rather than popularity, a balanced diet, a multilingual mind³.
I don’t think he intended his absence as a deficit. It will be. It has been. But not a large one.
We are fine. You are amazing.