Getty and Fort arrive on the tail end of that conversation.
“Who stole your cupcakes?” Fort wants to know.
“No one this year,” she says with a giggle.
Getty hunkers down on the edge of the picnic blanket and removes his hat. Tony is babbling his little heart out and Max is kicking his legs like he’s training for a marathon. My brother smiles at his nephews.
At unexpected moments such as this one, the loss of my father hits me particularly hard.
We didn’t always have an easy relationship but I miss him something fierce. There are plenty of times when I wish I could ask his advice. I expect there will be many more in the years to come.
Seeing glimpses of him in my brothers is a big comfort. And as the twins grow, he’ll also live through them. I have so many stories to tell my boys.
What I’ll also tell them is not to overlook the ordinary moments. These are the best ones. Sitting here with a view of the ranch under a clear sky with their mother in my arms is nothing short of magic.
“You’re having deep thoughts,” Cecilia teases and lays a couple of playful kisses along my jaw.
Our twins are both now babbling to each other on the blanket. My brothers are having a spirited argument over which of the three of them will be the designated driver tonight. And I draw my wife closer for a slower, more sensual kiss without a care who might be watching.
Inevitably, we’ll all face more challenges in the future. Some of them we’ll see coming. Some of them we won’t.
But any battle we’ve ever fought is worth the struggle when it leads us to days like this.
Our family has faced many tests. But no matter how we bruise and bend, we don’t break. Our enemies do.
This is the promise I make to my wife.
It’s the legacy I’ll leave to my sons, who will get to choose whether or not they’ll follow me or find their own distinctive path.
“What’s on your mind?” Cecilia asks when we finally separate. “You seem like you have something you want to say.”
My brothers abruptly pause their argument. Even the babies quit babbling as if they are listening in.
She’s right. I do have something to say.
“Happy Birthday, Cecilia Tempesta.”
