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“Can we do the last part now?”
The dean nodded.
The girls disappeared behind the curtain.
A few seconds later, they came back carrying three large cardboard boxes.
I laughed nervously.
“What are those?”
Ava smiled.
“Your life.”
The audience laughed.
Then she opened the first box.
Inside were photographs.
Hundreds of them.
Me holding babies.
Me sleeping at a kitchen table.
Me standing beside birthday cakes.
Me at school plays.
Me at parent-teacher conferences.
Me in the emergency room.
Me holding umbrellas over three little girls in the rain.
Photos I didn’t even remember being taken.
Claire opened the second box.
Inside were handwritten notes.
Hundreds of them.
“Thank you for making pancakes.”
“Sorry I broke the lamp.”
“I love you.”
“Please don’t be mad.”
“I got an A.”
“I got a B.”
“I’m scared.”
“Can we talk?”
“You’re the best dad.”
I covered my mouth.
Then June opened the third box.
There were three envelopes.
One with my name on it.
One with Ava’s handwriting.
One with Claire’s.
One with June’s.
I opened mine.
Inside was a photograph.
It was from twenty-two years earlier.
I was sitting on the floor of my tiny apartment.
The three babies were asleep around me.
I looked exhausted.
I looked terrified.
I looked happy.
On the back, the girls had written:
You thought you were saving us. You were teaching us what being loved looked like.
I couldn’t hold myself up anymore.
I sat down on the stage.