The Counting-Downers (37 page)

I sit down next to Matilda and make idle strokes on her stomach as she lies down on her back in the wild grass. Her eyes are closed in contentment as she soaks up the sunshine. I could look at my daughter forever and I watch in amusement as Daisy blows dandelion seed heads around the meadow and then tries and fails to catch them as she jumps up on her tiny legs. She’s the mirror image of me, but she has Matilda’s infectious, adventurous spirit. She hears my laugh and looks over.

“Pappa, pway wim me?”

Matilda laughs. “It’s your turn. She’s had me playing all day and I’m so exhausted. She’s tireless. I thought little girls were supposed to have less energy than boys?”

“She’s your daughter to the core.”

She opens her mouth to deny it and then shuts it just as fast when she realizes the truth in my statement.

“Exactly.”

“Pappa! Pway!” Daisy yells again, more impatient with every second that passes.

“Yes, sweetheart, I’m coming. Remind me why I thought it was a great idea for us to have kids?” I direct the last part to my wife under my breath.

Her hands resting on her swollen stomach shake with her laughter. “Something about love and a legacy. I wasn’t really listening.” She winks as I laugh at her teasing. “Anyway, it’s too late now.”

“That it is.”

I lean over to kiss Matilda when something crashes into my back. It seems I wasn’t fast enough for my daughter. If Matilda thought she hated time, Daisy has an entirely different problem with it. Like all children, it goes far too slowly for her. She’ll give anything to speed it up, while every adult I know would do anything to slow it down. Such is the privilege of childhood though. I almost envy her ignorance.

I turn my body as she giggles against my back and tries to escape me. I thought Matilda’s name and her voice were my favorite sounds, but they’ve now been overtaken by my daughter’s laugh. I’ll work forever just to hear that sound leave her lips. As her dad, I only want her to laugh, never cry.

She tries to outmaneuver me as I twist my torso left and right, but I change my direction and catch her in my arms, pulling her into my lap, much to her amusement. She squirms as I tickle her and blow raspberries against her neck.

“No, Pappa!” She laughs, wanting me to continue.

After a while, the wriggling turns into cuddles as she sits up and leans into my chest in surrender. She stretches to place plucked daisies, which have been crushed in her hand, into Matilda’s braid so that it matches her own.

“Hi, Mamma. You sweep?”

“Hi, baby. And yes, Mommy’s having a little nap.”

“Bwaby sweep, too?”

“Yes, he’s also resting.”

“WAKE UP, BWABY!” She directs her imperious yell in the direction of Matilda’s stomach.

“Hey, trouble.” I squeeze her with the arm holding her stomach, trying to contain my laughter so I don’t encourage her. “Let your mommy and brother sleep, not everyone has as much energy as you.”

“Sowwy, Mamma. Sowwy, bwaby.” Stray angelic blonde curls fall in front of large blue eyes and over her cherubic cheeks, as she looks chastised. Except for the mischievous glint in her eyes, which contradicts her words of remorse.

“That’s okay, sweetheart.” Matilda turns her face, and I know she’s also trying to conceal her amusement.

“Let’s go play that game.” I help Matilda out as I stand and lift Daisy onto my shoulders.

“See you later, Baby Bear.” I wink in solidarity. We’re in this together, her and me, sharing the highs and lows parenthood brings.

“See you later, Goldilocks.” She winks back with a grateful expression.

Daisy and I catch dandelion seeds, blow bubbles, and hunt for fairies for what feels like several hours, but in reality is only one. I’m offered a brief respite when Oscar comes through one of the gates, which separate our land and his. On most days, we leave them open.

For the first year of our married life, Matilda lived with me at the cabin, but after she became pregnant with Daisy, we wanted to live closer to our friends and family instead of being so remote.

In a moment of sad serendipity, Matilda’s elderly next door neighbor, Mrs. James had died around the same time, leaving behind no children or family, which meant that her house went on the market. Thanks to the unbelievable and overwhelming success of my art career, we were able to buy the house next door to Matilda’s childhood home outright as soon as it went up for sale. We still use the forest cabin as a weekend retreat but it’s no longer our main residence. My success also allows me to stay at home with our children just as much as Matilda, whose photography career is gaining widespread recognition and acclaim.

Things fell into place almost too perfectly, as though we had a helping hand of the divine kind. Whatever the reason, we’re both humbled and grateful for our good fortune. I know it means the world to my wife to not only be just a few steps away from her childhood memories, but to create new ones for our children in a meadow of our own. When it comes to our home, the past, present, and future are aligned with flawless harmony.

If only that could happen in every area of our lives.

Exhausted, I’m only too happy to hand over Daisy-duty to a now eleven-year-old Oscar. The small gap in their ages means he’s more like an older brother to my daughter than an uncle, and their dynamic is adorable to watch. He dotes on her. Seeing Genevieve enter our meadow to keep an eye on the children as they play with Leo, I wave before heading back to join my wife on the grass. She stirs as I lie down next to her and entwine my fingers with her the same way our hearts, minds, and lives are.

“We did good, didn’t we?” she asks through a voice husky with sleep.

“We did.”

We really did.

LATER THAT EVENING, after Daisy has woken up from her afternoon nap, we head to the beach that has been a big part of the backdrop of us. A silent, steady force when everything else around us was chaotic, it’s always been a constant. We still spend a lot of time here, as a couple, and as a family. Today is no different.

Over the years since we sat in Matilda’s childhood treehouse and thought about what we wanted to leave behind, we’ve completed several items on our legacy list and added more. A few weeks ago, Matilda had this great idea of writing messages to put in a bottle and ship out to sea, ending up wherever they may. All great adventures start with an idea.

We wanted to include Daisy as much as possible, and although she didn’t grasp the concept we were trying to describe to her, she drew a painting of what I think is the sea, which we rolled up into her own sealed bottle.

The messages inside Matilda’s and mine are different.

Hello,
mine reads.
I’m not sure where this will end up or if you even speak English, wherever in the world you are. That’s the beautiful thing about the oceans. They’re all connected, just as we are.

If you don’t speak English, I apologize for wasting your time with nonsensical words, but if you do, I hope this message in a bottle finds you well. Is it strange to wish a stranger well? I guess not. Wherever, whomever, whatever you are, I wish you well.

You may be wondering about me. My name is Tristan, but my wife says I’m not allowed to tell you any more than that. According to her, this exercise of writing messages in bottles is as much about you as it is about us. The point isn’t for us to know or find each other, but to connect, human to human, despite the fact we won’t.

But even as I write that, I can see the parallels with life. In the end, it’s never about you. The real measures of a life are the size, depth, and strength of your connections with others. My wife has taught me that, and although I’m supposed to use this to pass on advice, I hope it’s a lesson you’ve already learned.

You can live a half-life without love, but I hope for your sake, you don’t have to. And you shouldn’t have to. Not when love comes in so many different forms. Many people spend and waste a lifetime chasing romantic love. While it’s an incredible experience, there are other types of soul-sustaining love. Love exists in the most unlikely of places. Search for it. Don’t give up.

For even if it’s just one person, a friend, a family member, or even a pet that you love and who loves you back, who sees you, as you see them, with love, honesty, and acceptance, then you’re incredibly lucky. Because we all just want to be seen, don’t we? By someone, anyone, for who we truly are. We don’t just want people to look at us, we want them to see us, and we don’t just want them to hear us, but listen to the words we aren’t saying that reveal our truest selves.

For so long, I lived in isolation. Having experienced love in my early years, I was convinced I never would again. I used to view these countdowns above all of our heads as a curse, rather than a blessing, because they’d taken everyone I loved and who loved me away.

But my whole life changed when I met a girl. One who taught me so many things, especially that death is not an excuse; it’s an opportunity. Death is not the reason you shouldn’t live, it’s an opportunity to live your life to the absolute fullest.

We aren’t given a say in how much time we have left, but we do get to decide what we do with it. I’m running out of space, so I guess all that’s left to say is I hope you choose wisely. And live a life full of love. Because ‘a life full of love’ is just another way to say ‘living.’

Matilda allowed me to read hers before we put them into the bottle.

I’m fascinated by the idea of you,
it began.
Who are you? Where do you live? What’s your story? Romance and melancholy surround the idea that I’ll never know. I love the idea of speaking and sharing my innermost thoughts with someone I’ll never meet.

One day, I’ll disappear, as will you, but this tiny scrap of paper that signifies a chance encounter, a random moment between two unfamiliar souls, will live on. Well, unless this bottle hasn’t crashed into a rock or a ship, in which case this piece of paper will quickly disappear too, the inked words washed away with the waves.

You’re probably wondering about me. My name is Matilda and my husband and I are writing messages in a bottle as part of our legacy. If you’re reading this, I’m sure you’re wondering if we’re famous or special enough to leave a legacy. Where I’m concerned, it’s no to the former, yes to the latter. Because legacies are not just for legends. Whether a million people know your name, or only one person does, you still have the right to leave your mark on the world, even if it’s only in your tiny corner of it, in the tiniest of ways.

Not all of us will achieve great heights and feats. Most of us will never leave our hometown or country, let alone conquer Everest. And you know what? That’s okay. Because real life is what happens in between moments of greatness.

The little things that at the end of it all, you realize were greater than the sum of their parts. The amount of times you laughed, or cried, danced, sang, created, inspired, and made someone smile. Those things are no less important than awards and accolades because of their intangibility.

The best kind of legacies are the ones that are unseen. You’ll never be able to measure the effect of a smile or a kind word, but I promise you, the most whispered phrase can send a shockwave around the world that lasts for centuries, or even an eternity. We’re all so focused on our own journeys through life, that we rarely stop and see the bigger picture, and how integral other people are in shaping who we become.

Be the person you want people to one day say you were. And start now. Because the timeless truth remains that time is running out for all of us, ready or not. So live and love. Truly, deeply, freely.

“You want to do the honors?” she asks, holding out the bottles toward me.

“No, I think you should. It was your idea.”

“Haven’t you worked it out yet? There is no
yours
and
mine
when it comes to us. Only ever
ours
.”

“Only ever ours. I love you, Baby Bear.”

“I love you too, Goldilocks. And I love you, Miss Daisy.” She tickles our daughter’s stomach as she squirms in delight in my arms.

“Shall we do it together then?”

“Yes. Do you think they’ll travel together or split apart?”

“Now who’s the one who isn’t getting it? We put pieces of our souls into those messages, Til. And my soul will always find yours. Whether it’s in a body or a bottle.”

I lower Daisy to the ground and take hold of her hand. With my free hand, I take the sealed food storage bag containing the clear glass bottle with the cork that has been sealed with wax from Matilda’s hands. It’s highly likely our messages will end up at the bottom of the ocean, but we wanted to take every precaution.

“Okay, ready? On the count of three. One… two… three…” Daisy claps in delight as we cast our bottles out into the vast unknown. Just as I said they would, they land close together and begin to float toward the horizon in the same direction.

“Bye, bwottles!” My daughter waves as she shouts, making us both laugh before we gaze back out at them in quiet contemplation. I squeeze Matilda’s hand with the one not holding Daisy’s.