Rating: PG, tissue warning
Pairing: Josh/Donna
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers: What Kind of Day Has It Been, Two Gunmen, Inauguration: Over There
Notes: Written for the LiveJournal Writer's Choice Letter Challenge.

Dear Son,

Maybe you think it's weird that I'm starting a letter to you that way, but there's a good reason for it, seeing as you're currently minus three months old, and your mom and I are having serious trouble deciding on a name for you. For some reason, she thinks that Luciano and Romeo are perfectly normal names in this day and age. It's a combination of her Italian ancestry and pregnancy hormones I think, but I'm pretty sure I'll get her to agree that Noah Josiah Lyman is a perfectly fine name.

I've got a pretty good trump card.

If you're reading this, it means that you're eighteen. A man, old enough to make his own decisions. I hope however, that you'll listen to some words of wisdom from your old man. Sam's rolling his eyes as he types this, and I know he's expecting some profound words of wisdom from me.

He's just muttered "That'd be a first." He's off the godfather list.

My words of advice aren't to do with school and college, or voting, or drinking and driving. Though if they were, I'd say study hard, vote Democrat and remind you that you're probably going to have a delicate system, so drink in moderation.

But the only advice you're going to need to get through life is this - Follow your heart.

That's what I did when I went to Nashua all those years ago, and what Mom did when she drove from Madison to Manchester, walked into my office and talked her way into a job and my life.

That's what we did when we fell in love.

There was a lot of stuff written about us, said about us, when our relationship was made public. About my reasons for giving Mom her job, about me forcing her into a relationship; other things that I'm not going to talk to my son about, eighteen or not. You might have heard some of it, or read some of it.

None of it is true.

Your mom and I were meant to be together, I truly believe that. We were meant to meet, marry, and have you, our beautiful baby boy.

You are going to be beautiful, I know that. And smart, and talented and loved. You're going to have the world at your feet.

I just wish that I could be there to see you.

The reason I can't is not because I don't want to be, because I do. But something happened long before you were born, before Mom and I were a thing, when an ordinary town meeting turned into something terrible. The doctors worked a miracle to bring me back then, and I grabbed my second chance at life.

You're living proof of that.

It's just that sometimes, miracles have a shorter shelf life than you might want.

Sam's telling me that there's still hope, still time, but I'm not so sure they're going to find a replacement heart in time for me to see you, and I wanted to get this down on paper for you, just in case. If you ever need anything by the way, if you're ever not sure of anything, you should ask Sam. Being struck from the godfather list notwithstanding, he's a pretty smart guy, and he's gonna take good care of you and Mom.

That's what's done for sons by old friends of their father's.

You're going to have a large extended family to take care of you and Mom, and they're going to tell you a lot of stories about the two of us. Listen to them all, especially the one about the second Inauguration and snowballs. That's a good one.

Take care of your mother for me. And do what she tells you. She's usually right about things. Tell her I love her, and tell her you love her too. You're not too old to do that, just because you're eighteen.

And know that I love you both, very very much.

Dad.