About the Book

My wife died when my daughter was nine months old. She won’t remember her voice, her obsession with pretty baby outfits, or the way she sang made-up lyrics every morning. So I’m writing it down for her before I forget.

These letters cover the first two years after she died. The panic attacks I had while Luciana played with blocks. The fifty pounds I lost because eating felt like betrayal. The nights I was there but not there, the days I faked being human so Luciana wouldn’t grow up with a ghost for a father.

I learned to be a good dad. But I don’t want credit for being what I should have been all along.

Survival doesn’t have to look like healing. Sometimes, it just looks like getting through Tuesday.

About the Author

I live in Northern Virginia with my daughter Luciana. My wife Vanessa was Bolivian, opinionated about Luciana’s outfits, and significantly funnier than me.

I started writing these letters because I was terrified of forgetting. I kept writing them because it turned out I had things to say that didn’t fit anywhere else.

I have a nondescript job doing relatively interesting things no one would care about. I’m learning Spanish, poorly but persistently, so Luciana can grow up connected to her mother’s culture. I’m hoping to get my dogs back when she’s old enough to help clean up their poop.

You can reach me at dearluciana2023@gmail.com. My Instagram is @dearluciana_besitos. I don’t have a professional account. Be nice.