Before He Passed Away From Cancer, His Final Wish Was for Her to Marry …

Part 2 — What the Paper Said

The paper was a letter. Written by Michael. In Michael’s handwriting. The handwriting I recognized from fifteen years of birthday cards and grocery lists and the particular, unmistakable, slightly slanted, every-letter-formed-by-a-hand-I-held script that a wife recognizes because the recognizing is the knowing and the knowing is the fifteen years.

The letter was addressed to me. But the letter was given to Ethan. The giving was performed by Michael during the final week, while I was asleep in the hospital chair beside the bed, while Michael was awake and the awake was the carrying and the carrying was the thing Michael performed while I slept.

Michael gave Ethan the letter. Michael told Ethan to give the letter to me after the wedding. Not before. After. The after was the instruction. The instruction said the letter’s delivering required the marrying to precede the delivering because the preceding was the condition the letter’s content required.

The letter said:

My darling. If you are reading this, you have married Ethan. If you have married Ethan, then the promise has been kept. Now you need to understand why the promise was made.

The letter said:

In the second year of our marriage, we tried to have children. You remember the trying. The trying lasted eight months. Eight months of the hoping and the testing and the particular, monthly, each-month-is-the-hoping, each-month-produces-the-not-pregnant, the-not-pregnant-is-the-cycle cycle that two people perform when the two people are trying to conceive and the conceiving is not occurring.

I remember. I remember the eight months. I remember the hoping. I remember the not-pregnant. I remember the tears.

The letter said:

During the fifth month of the trying, I went to a specialist. Alone. Without you. The alone was the choice. The choice was the not-telling. The not-telling was the beginning of the lie the paper is now correcting.

The specialist performed the tests. The tests showed the result. The result was the word the specialist used. The word was azoospermia. The word means the body does not produce viable sperm. The word means the fathering, biologically, cannot be performed by the body the word describes.

The word described me. The body was mine. The azoospermia was mine. The cannot was mine.

I could not father children.

The letter said:

The specialist told me the condition was permanent. Not treatable. Not reversible. The particular, this-is-the-biology, the-biology-is-the-limitation, the-limitation-is-permanent information that a specialist delivers when the specialist’s tests have confirmed the condition and the confirming is the permanence and the permanence is the word that says the not-fathering is the not-fathering and the not will not change.

I sat in that office and I made a decision. The decision was the lie. The lie was the thing the paper is now describing.

I did not tell you. I went home. I told you the specialist said everything was normal and that we should keep trying.

The letter said:

Two months later, I went to Ethan. I told Ethan the truth. I told Ethan the word. I told Ethan the permanent. I told Ethan the thing I could not tell you because the telling would have produced the knowing and the knowing would have produced the choice and the choice might have been the leaving and the leaving was the thing I could not survive.

I asked Ethan to help.

The letter said:

I arranged with a fertility clinic. The clinic was Dr. Osman’s practice on Claremont Avenue. I told you the clinic was for both of us. I told you the treatments were standard. I told you the procedures were designed to help us conceive. Everything I told you about the clinic was true except one thing.

The donor was not anonymous.

The donor was Ethan.

I read the sentence. I read it again. The reading was performed while sitting on the edge of the bed beside Ethan, who had been carrying the paper and whose carrying was the years and the years were inside the sentence and the sentence was the thing the years contained.

The donor was Ethan.

The letter said:

I asked Ethan because Ethan was the closest person to me in the world. Ethan’s genetics were the closest available approximation to mine without being mine. Ethan and I grew up together. Same street. Same school. Same build. Same coloring. Ethan’s features were the features a child of mine would have carried if the child could have been mine and the could-not was the thing the word described and the word was the permanent.

I wanted the children to look like they could be mine. I wanted the looking-like to protect you from the knowing. I wanted the not-knowing to be your life because your life, lived without the knowing, would be the life I wanted you to have.

The letter said:

Ethan agreed. Ethan did not want to agree. The not-wanting was the particular, this-is-wrong, the-wrong-is-the-deceiving, the-deceiving-is-the-thing-I-do-not-want-to-do resistance that Ethan performed when the request was made. Ethan told me I should tell you. Ethan told me the telling was the right thing. Ethan told me the right-thing was the truth and the truth was the thing you deserved.

I told Ethan the truth would break us. I told Ethan the breaking was the thing I could not survive. I told Ethan the not-surviving was the thing the telling would produce.

Ethan agreed because Ethan loved me. The loving was the friendship. The friendship was the thirty-one years. The thirty-one years said the agreeing was the thing the loving demanded even when the demanding was the wrong and the wrong was the deceiving and the deceiving was the thing Ethan would carry.

The letter said:

The clinic performed three cycles. The first cycle produced our son, Daniel. The second cycle, two years later, produced our daughter, Grace. The third cycle, three years after that, produced our youngest, Lucas.

Three children. Three cycles. Three times Ethan provided the contribution. Three times the clinic performed the procedure. Three times you believed the conception was ours. Three times the believing was the lie and the lie was mine.

Daniel. Grace. Lucas.

The children I raised. The children Michael raised. The children we raised together for fifteen years. The children whose faces I looked at every morning and whose faces I saw Michael in and whose seeing-Michael was the thing the looking-like produced because the looking-like was the arrangement the clinic provided and the providing was the resemblance and the resemblance was the deception.

The resemblance was designed. The designing was Michael’s. Michael selected Ethan because Ethan’s features would produce the children whose children would look like they could be Michael’s. And the looking-like was the protection. The protection of the lie. The lie that said the children were Michael’s biologically when the children were Ethan’s biologically and the biologically was the truth the lie concealed.

The letter said:

I loved those children as if every cell in their bodies came from mine. And in every way that matters, they did. Because the fathering is not the biology. The fathering is the holding and the teaching and the sitting-through-the-school-plays and the driving-to-practice and the particular, daily, sustained, this-is-what-a-father-does performance that I performed for fifteen years and the performing was the fathering and the fathering was mine.

But the biology was Ethan’s. And the biology matters now. Because I am dy!ng.

The letter said:

When I d!e, the children will need a father. Not a memory of a father. A father. A person whose presence performs the fathering the memory cannot perform. A person who teaches and holds and drives and attends and performs the particular, daily, sustained, being-there that the fathering requires and that the memory cannot provide because the memory is the absence and the absence is the thing the children will be inside.

The father the children need is Ethan. Not because Ethan is my best friend. Not because Ethan is their godfather. Because Ethan is their biological father.

The letter said:

That is why I asked you to marry Ethan. The asking was not the random. The asking was not the desperate. The asking was the design. The design that said the children’s biological father should be the person who raises them after the biological father they believed was their father is gone.

The design was the correction. The correction of the lie. The lie said the children were mine. The correction says the children are Ethan’s. And the correcting is performed through the marrying because the marrying places Ethan inside the family the lie kept him adjacent to and the adjacent is the thing the marrying resolves.

The letter said:

I should have told you sooner. Ethan was right. The telling was the thing you deserved. The deserving was the truth. The truth was the thing I withheld because the withholding was the protection and the protection was the lie and the lie was the thing I maintained for fifteen years because the maintaining was the only way I could keep the family the lie gave me.

The family the lie gave me. The sentence that tells a woman her family was given through a lie. The family she believed was built through love and biology and the particular, natural, this-is-how-families-are-made making that a married couple performs was built through a lie and a clinic and a best friend’s contribution and the contribution was the biology the husband could not provide.

The letter ended:

Forgive me if you can. Hate me if you must. But please understand: every day of those fifteen years, I loved you and our children with a love that was not diminished by the biology. The biology was the thing I could not provide. The love was the thing I could. And I provided it. Every day. Without exception. Without pause. Without the biology’s absence reducing the love’s presence.

The children are Ethan’s. The children are mine. The two are not contradictions. The two are the truth. And the truth, finally told, is the paper you are holding.

I’m sorry. I love you. Tell the children their father loved them.

Both of their fathers.

Michael.

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Part 3 — What I Did With the Paper

I sat on the edge of the bed holding the paper for a long time.

The long time was the particular, the-information-exceeds-the-capacity, the-capacity-requires-the-time, the-time-is-the-thing-the-processing-demands duration that a person requires when the person has just received information that restructures the person’s entire understanding and the entire is the word that describes the scope of the restructuring and the scope is everything.

Everything. The fifteen years. The marriage. The children. The conceiving. The clinic. The treatments I believed were standard. The hoping that lasted eight months and the hoping’s resolution that I believed was the biology working and the working was the thing the biology did not perform because the biology was Ethan’s and the Ethan’s was the thing Michael arranged through the clinic and the arranging was the lie.

Ethan sat beside me. Not speaking. The particular, I-have-delivered-the-paper, the-delivering-was-my-assignment, the-assignment-was-Michael’s, the-Michael’s-was-the-instruction, the-instruction-said-after-the-wedding silence of a man whose silence was the waiting and the waiting was the thing the delivering required because the delivering produces the processing and the processing requires the silence the waiting provides.

I asked Ethan how long he had known.

Ethan told me he had known since before Daniel was born. He told me he had known for sixteen years. He told me the knowing was the carrying and the carrying was the sixteen years and the sixteen years were the weight and the weight was the thing his hands were shaking from at the altar because the altar was the place the carrying was being converted into the telling and the converting was the thing the shaking was about.

I asked Ethan whether he loved the children.

Ethan’s face broke. The particular, total, the-sentence-has-reached-the-center, the-center-is-the-children, the-children-are-the-thing-the-carrying-was-about breaking that a face performs when the face’s owner is asked the question the owner has been carrying the answer to for sixteen years and the answer is the thing the breaking releases.

He told me he loved them from the first moment. He told me he loved Daniel from the day Daniel was born and the loving was the particular, I-was-in-the-waiting-room, the-waiting-was-the-knowing, the-knowing-was-that-the-baby-being-born-was-mine, the-mine-was-the-biological, but-the-mine-was-not-the-holding, the-holding-was-Michael’s love that a biological father experiences when the biological father is in the waiting room and the baby is born and the baby is held by the other father and the other father’s holding is the holding the biological father watches and the watching is the carrying performed from the waiting room.

He told me he watched the children grow. From the adjacent. The godfather’s adjacent. The particular, I-am-at-every-birthday, I-am-at-every-holiday, I-am-the-closest-person-to-these-children-who-is-not-their-parent, but-I-am-their-parent, but-the-am-is-the-biology-and-the-biology-is-the-secret proximity that Ethan maintained for sixteen years because the maintaining was the only fathering the lie permitted.

He told me teaching Daniel to shave was the hardest thing he had ever done. Not because the teaching was difficult. Because the teaching was the fathering. The particular, this-is-what-a-father-does, I-am-performing-the-fathering, the-fathering-is-mine-to-perform, but-the-performing-is-performed-from-the-godfather’s-position-rather-than-the-father’s-position displacement that Ethan experienced when the performing was the thing the biology entitled him to and the entitling was overridden by the lie and the lie placed the performing inside the godfather’s role rather than the father’s role.

He told me sitting through Grace’s school play with tears in his eyes was the carrying’s weight made visible. The tears were not the grief for Michael. The tears were the particular, my-daughter-is-on-that-stage, the-stage-holds-my-daughter, my-daughter-does-not-know-I-am-her-father, the-not-knowing-is-the-lie, the-lie-is-the-thing-the-tears-are-about tears of a man whose biological daughter was performing on a stage while the biological father watched from the audience in the godfather’s seat rather than the father’s seat.

I asked Ethan why he agreed.

Ethan told me Michael was his brother. Not biologically. The thirty-one years. The particular, childhood, we-grew-up-together, the-growing-was-the-bonding, the-bonding-was-the-brotherhood bond that two men produce when the producing is the years and the years are the three decades and the three decades are the thing the word brother describes.

He told me Michael came to him desperate. He told me the word azoospermia had destroyed something inside Michael. The particular, I-cannot-be-a-father, the-cannot-is-the-permanent, the-permanent-is-the-thing-that-is-destroying-me, the-destroying-is-the-identity destruction that a man experiences when the man’s biology has told the man the thing the man cannot accept and the not-accepting is the destroying and the destroying was the thing Michael was performing when Michael came to Ethan.

He told me Michael begged. The particular, I-have-never-seen-this-man-beg, the-begging-is-the-evidence, the-evidence-says-the-desperation-exceeds-the-pride begging that a man performs when the man’s need exceeds the man’s pride and the exceeding is the begging and the begging is directed at the only person the begging’s content can be directed at.

He told me he agreed because the refusing would have destroyed Michael. The destroying was the alternative. The alternative to the agreeing. The alternative said the refusing would have told Michael that the brother would not help and the not-helping would have been the abandoning and the abandoning was the thing the thirty-one years said Ethan could not perform.

He told me the agreeing was the hardest decision he had ever made. Until the carrying. The carrying was harder. The carrying lasted sixteen years. The carrying was the watching the children grow from the adjacent and the watching from the adjacent was the weight and the weight was the sixteen years and the sixteen years were inside the shaking hands at the altar.

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Part 4 — What I Told the Children

I did not tell the children immediately.

The not-telling was the particular, I-need-to-process-before-I-can-deliver, the-delivering-requires-the-processed, the-processed-requires-the-time interval that a mother requires when the mother has received information that will restructure the children’s understanding and the restructuring must be performed by a mother whose own restructuring is still being performed.

I processed for three weeks. Three weeks of the particular, living-in-the-house-with-Ethan, the-house-is-the-family, the-family-is-the-lie, the-lie-is-the-truth, the-two-are-inside-the-same-house cohabitation that the promise produced and the producing was the marriage and the marriage was the thing Michael designed and the designing was the placing of Ethan inside the family the lie kept him adjacent to.

During the three weeks, I watched Ethan with the children. I watched through the knowing the paper provided. The knowing changed the watching. The watching was now the particular, I-see-the-biology, the-biology-is-in-Daniel’s-jawline, the-biology-is-in-Grace’s-eyes, the-biology-is-in-Lucas’s-laugh seeing that a mother performs when the mother has been given the lens the knowing provides and the lens shows the features the lens was designed to reveal.

Daniel had Ethan’s jawline. Not Michael’s. The jawline I attributed to Michael for fourteen years was Ethan’s jawline contributed through the biology the clinic facilitated. Grace had Ethan’s eyes. The particular, blue-green, the-color-I-could-never-find-in-Michael’s-family, the-not-finding-was-the-thing-I-did-not-question color that Grace carried and that the carrying was the biology and the biology was Ethan’s.

Lucas had Ethan’s laugh. The particular, loud, head-back, the-laugh-fills-the-room laugh that I heard from both Lucas and Ethan and that the hearing was the same and the same was the biology and the biology was the thing the knowing now made visible.

The lens showed everything. The lens was the paper. The paper was the knowing. The knowing was the seeing. The seeing was the thing fifteen years of not-knowing had prevented and the preventing was the lie and the lie was now removed and the removing was the seeing.

I told the children on a Sunday afternoon. In the living room. The living room where Michael’s photograph was on the mantel. The mantel that held the photograph and the photograph held the man whose man’s letter was the paper and the paper was the thing the Sunday afternoon was about.

Daniel was fifteen. Grace was thirteen. Lucas was ten.

I told them their father loved them. I told them Michael loved them completely and without reservation for every day of their lives. I told them the loving was the truth. The loving was not the lie.

Then I told them about the biology. I told them in the language the ages permitted. The language that said Michael could not make babies in the usual way and the not-making required the help and the help was provided by Ethan and the providing was the biology and the biology was the thing that made them and the making was the thing the language described.

Daniel looked at Ethan. The looking of a fifteen-year-old whose fifteen-year-old has just been told the godfather is the biological father. The looking that contains the particular, the-information-is-restructuring, the-restructuring-is-the-face, the-face-is-performing-the-processing response that a teenager’s face performs when the face’s owner has received the information and the information is the largest information the owner has ever received.

Daniel asked Ethan whether it was true.

Ethan told Daniel yes.

Daniel was quiet for approximately two minutes. Two minutes is a long time in a living room. Long enough for a fifteen-year-old’s processing to produce the question the processing generates.

Daniel asked Ethan whether Ethan loved him.

Ethan’s face performed the breaking again. The same breaking from the bedroom. The particular, the-question-is-the-center, the-center-is-the-children, the-children-are-the-thing-the-carrying-was-about breaking that a face performs when the face is asked the question the face has been carrying the answer to.

Ethan told Daniel he loved him from the first day. He told Daniel the first day was the day Daniel was born and the born was the thing Ethan was in the waiting room for and the waiting room was the adjacent and the adjacent was the place the loving was performed from for fifteen years.

Daniel stood up. He walked to Ethan. He hugged Ethan. The particular, fifteen-year-old, the-hug-is-not-the-typical, the-typical-is-the-side-hug, this-is-the-full, the-full-is-the-thing-the-information-requires hug that a teenager performs when the teenager has decided the hugging is the response and the response is the thing the information requires and the requiring is the moment.

Grace cried. The particular, thirteen-year-old, I-am-processing-through-the-crying, the-crying-is-the-processing crying that a teenager performs when the information’s arrival produces the response and the response is the crying because the crying is the only channel the processing has.

Lucas asked whether this meant he had two dads.

The question was the ten-year-old’s version. The particular, direct, the-simplest-formulation, the-formulation-is-the-question, the-question-is-the-truest-thing-anyone-has-said question that a ten-year-old produces when the ten-year-old’s processing has produced the distillation and the distillation is the question and the question is the simplest and the truest.

I told Lucas yes. Two dads. One who was here now. One who was watching.

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Part 5 — What the Promise Built

The family reorganized.

Not dramatically. Not with the particular, everything-changes-at-once, the-changing-is-the-upheaval disruption that some revelations produce. The reorganizing was the particular, gradual, day-by-day, the-days-are-the-adjusting, the-adjusting-is-the-incorporating process that a family performs when the family has received new information and the information does not destroy the family but restructures the family and the restructuring is performed through the days.

Ethan was no longer the godfather. Ethan was the stepfather. The legal designation the marriage provided. But the designation was now accompanied by the knowing and the knowing said the step was not the step and the step was the biological and the biological was the thing the designation concealed and the concealing was the last remaining piece of the lie and the last was the thing the telling addressed.

The children adjusted. Daniel adjusted first. The adjusting was performed through the particular, teenage, I-am-looking-at-Ethan-differently, the-differently-is-the-knowing, the-knowing-changes-the-seeing seeing that a teenager performs when the teenager’s seeing has been informed by the knowing and the knowing says the man the teenager has been seeing as the godfather is the man the teenager should have been seeing as the father.

Daniel told Ethan, approximately three months after the telling, that he wanted to call Ethan Dad.

The sentence landed with the particular, a-fifteen-year-old-has-just-said-the-word, the-word-is-Dad, the-Dad-is-directed-at-the-man-who-has-been-carrying-the-adjacent-for-fifteen-years weight of a sentence that converts the adjacent into the direct and the converting is the word and the word is Dad and the Dad is the thing Ethan has been carrying the wanting-to-hear for fifteen years.

Ethan told Daniel he did not have to. He told Daniel the calling was Daniel’s choice and the choosing was the thing Daniel’s autonomy required and the requiring said the calling was the offer and the offering was the deciding and the deciding was Daniel’s.

Daniel told Ethan the deciding was done. The done was the Dad.

Ethan cried. The particular, sixteen-years-of-the-adjacent, the-adjacent-is-ending, the-ending-is-the-word-Dad, the-word-is-the-thing-the-sixteen-years-were-carrying crying that a man performs when the man’s carrying is ended by a word and the word is spoken by the person the carrying was about and the about is the child and the child has said the word and the word is Dad.

Grace took longer. The longer was the particular, thirteen-year-old, I-need-more-time, the-time-is-the-processing, the-processing-is-mine duration that a teenager requires when the teenager’s processing is performed at the teenager’s pace and the pace is the teenager’s and the pace is the thing the family respects.

Grace called Ethan by his name. For four months. Then, one evening, Grace was working on homework at the kitchen table and she asked Ethan for help with a math problem and the asking was performed with the word Dad and the word was the first time and the first time was the particular, casual, inserted-into-the-ordinary, the-ordinary-is-the-homework, the-homework-is-the-setting, the-setting-makes-the-word-the-natural delivery that a thirteen-year-old performs when the thirteen-year-old has decided the word is ready and the readiness is demonstrated through the ordinary because the ordinary is the safest place to try the word.

Lucas adjusted fastest. Ten-year-olds adjust fastest because the adjusting requires the flexibility the ten provides and the providing is the age and the age is the thing the adjusting is funded by.

Lucas told Ethan he had a question. Ethan told Lucas to ask.

Lucas asked Ethan whether Ethan was better at basketball than Michael.

The question was the ten-year-old’s assessment of the transition’s completion. The particular, I-have-accepted-the-information, the-accepting-is-complete, the-completing-permits-the-normal-questions, the-normal-questions-are-about-basketball normality that a ten-year-old returns to when the ten-year-old’s processing is done and the done permits the returning and the returning is the normal and the normal is the basketball.

Ethan told Lucas he was significantly better at basketball than Michael.

I laughed. The first laugh since the paper. The particular, involuntary, the-sentence-is-funny, the-funny-produces-the-laughing, the-laughing-is-the-thing-the-family-has-not-heard laugh that a household produces when the household has been inside the processing and the processing has been performing the serious and the serious has been replaced by the funny and the funny is the basketball.

Michael’s photograph remained on the mantel. The photograph was not replaced. The photograph was not moved. The photograph occupied the same position and the same frame and the same mantel and the same place the photograph had occupied for fifteen years.

Ethan told me once that the photograph should stay. He told me the staying was the thing the photograph deserved because the photograph held the man who was the father and the father was Michael and the Michael was the man the children loved and the loving was the thing the photograph preserved.

Michael was the father. Ethan was the father. The two were not the contradiction. The two were the truth. The truth Michael’s letter described. The truth that said the children had two fathers and the two was not the excess and the two was the completeness and the completeness was the thing the family now held.

On quiet evenings, Ethan and I sat on the porch.

The porch Michael built. The porch Ethan finished after Michael d!ed. The finishing that was the particular, I-am-completing-the-thing-my-brother-started, the-starting-was-Michael’s, the-completing-is-mine, the-two-are-the-same-porch act that Ethan performed because the performing was the thing the friendship demanded and the demanding was the thirty-one years.

The porch held the two of us. The two who were married because a dy!ng man extracted a promise. The promise that was the design. The design that said the children’s biological father should be inside the family rather than adjacent to the family. The design that corrected the lie by placing the lie’s truth inside the house the lie built.

The house was Michael’s. The house was Ethan’s. The house was the children’s. The house held the photographs and the homework and the basketball and the particular, daily, sustained, this-is-a-family, the-family-is-the-thing-the-house-holds ordinary that a family produces when the producing is the living and the living is the thing the two fathers provided.

One father from the mantel. One father from the porch.

The mantel held the photograph. The porch held the man. The two held the family.

Daniel’s jawline. Grace’s eyes. Lucas’s laugh. The biology that was Ethan’s. The fathering that was Michael’s. The two that were not the contradiction. The two that were the truth.

Michael’s letter was in the desk drawer. The paper was worn. The folds were the evidence. The evidence said the carrying lasted sixteen years and the carrying was ended by the telling and the telling was the thing the wedding night produced and the producing was the truth and the truth was the thing the family was now built on.

Built on the truth. After fifteen years of the lie. The lie that gave the family the children. The truth that gave the children the father. The two that were inside the same story. The story whose story was a man who could not father children and who asked his brother to provide the biology and whose brother provided it and whose providing lasted sixteen years of the adjacent and the adjacent was ended by a promise extracted from a hospital bed by a man whose final wish was the correction.

The correction was the family. The family was the promise. The promise was kept.

The porch was quiet. The evening was warm. The children were inside. The photograph was on the mantel. The man was on the porch.

Two fathers. One family. The lie was over. The truth was the house.