Dear Dom

A letter to the man I never met, on my wedding day.

My husband’s father passed away from cancer in the early spring of 2019, just a few short months before I met his son.

I never met Dom, but I’ve always felt like I’ve known him. His spirit. His humor. His no-BS attitude. I wrote this letter to him, for Jack, on our wedding day.

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Dear Dom, 

I marry your son today. Don’t worry — I’m not going to give the “You’d be so proud of him” speech. He hates that one. How would they know? Jack always says. That’s just something people say when they don’t know what else to say. 

I never got the privilege of meeting you, Dom, and I won’t get the chance to in this life, but I want you to know how much I love your son. Don’t get me wrong; he can be a real piece of work sometimes. He’s stubborn. Moody. Irritable. Close-minded. And we won’t even venture towards the horrors of him being hungry.

But even on his worst days, Dom, he’s still the best man I know. He’s strong. Steady. Courageous. Loving. Compassionate. Generous. Handsome. Relaxed. Joyful. He doesn’t have a friend who doesn’t look up to him. He does everything fully, completely, 100% of the time. He doesn’t know how to half-ass anything. He loves to talk about you. And he never apologizes when it makes him cry. His smile is a slice of sunlight, like that first refreshing crunch of watermelon on a sweltering summer day. I could walk into a room full of 10,000 people and find him instantly. He’s the best part of my day, everyday. I’d follow him anywhere. I will follow him anywhere. He’s worth it. But you already knew this, didn’t you?

I started a new job this year, Dom. One that I really love. One that means a lot to me. When I first joined the company, I filled out an icebreaker questionnaire where I answered a bunch of silly questions. You would have hated it. One of the questions was, “Who is your hero?” Without hesitation, I gave the name of your son. 

At the time, he was just my boyfriend. You know how cringey it is to say, “My boyfriend is my hero”? I know. Ridiculous. But that’s the kind of man he is, Dom. He is unshakeable. He teaches me how to hold life in both hands, how to be everything all at once: strong but gentle, driven but relaxed, energetic but peaceful, loving but truthful.

I wish so badly that you could see him today, Dom. He’ll look so handsome in his tailored suit, waiting for me at the altar while his eyes well with tears, head held high, hands steady like always. I know he’ll be thinking of you, of one of the last times he ever saw you, walking his sister down the isle, so sick that you could barely stand up straight. That’s okay — there’s no need to cry. You have a strong spirit, Dom. It fills a room even in your absence. I see that same spirit in your son. Maybe that’s why I feel like I know you so well.

There’s a line you used to say: “Thanks for being you.” Jack said this to me shortly after we first met, and it stuck. It’s become “our thing,” I guess. He even engraved it into the brushed gold of his wedding band. That’s where your words will sit, forever, pressed into the warm skin of his hand for every moment of every day.

What I’m trying to say is, thank you. Thank you for raising the man who is my entire world. Thank you for passing on your fiery spirit, your insufferable moodiness, your gritty courage, your terrible jokes, your infectious laughter. Thank you for all of the good and all of the bad. Thanks for being you. 

Until our first embrace,

G