As I write this, I am at an airport gate waiting for my flight home. I’ve been away for work for three days. I’m ready to be back home with my wife, son, and dogs.

I haven’t wrote about our dogs yet. Actually, they’re Gabrielle’s dogs. I’ve sort of adopted them.

One is 7. The other is 6. For the purpose of maintaining their privacy. I won’t share their names here. They’ll bite me if I do.

They’re good for the most part. I stress, “for the most part.”

We used a moving company in Buffalo, NY to help us move into our first home a couple years ago. For some reason the dogs didn’t like them very much. They growled quite a bit.

Otherwise, they’ve always been friendly around all manners of people. The younger one loves humans and really enjoys affection. He used to climb up on the couch all the time and lay right on top of me. My wife put an end to that, because: “The dogs don’t belong on the couch.”

They’re boxers and they’re big. They slobber a lot, shed more, and smell bad. This drives Gabrielle nuts because it is her goal to keep the house clean and immaculate.

We’ve talked about having dogs after the current mutts pass away. Gabrielle is against. I am, too. They’re a lot of work. Once we have kids who are grown and can take responsibility for a pet, maybe we’ll get another dog or dogs.

By our estimation, our boxers have 4-5 good years left. I have a feeling my wife will inconsolable when they’re gone. She’s had them since they were puppies, and has taken care of them every day. We walk them at least once a day religiously. We’ll miss them. I hate to admit it, but I’ll miss them, too.

Anyway, my flight is about to board, and I can’t wait to get home. It is my favorite place in the world.

While Gabrielle and I were together but apart, we did a lot of our communication through email. Sure, we spoke on the phone most days for at least 5-10 minutes, but our schedules often dictated that our best conversations were written and through Yahoo. Rare was the day that we didn’t email one another.

These days I work a lot with college-aged students. To them, email has become obsolete. They seldom respond to it. The best way to reach them is through text or a peer-to-peer social media platform, such as Snapchat. In some ways, email is going the way of traditional letter writing.

While away for work recently, I emailed Gabrielle for the first time in what seemed like years. I was lying in bed, half asleep, and punched out 100 or so words on my iPhone. I missed her a lot and let her know. It felt good to email her. I know how much she appreciates hearing from me.

Our email interactions started soon after we met and started dating 12 years ago. Savvy as she is, she tracked down my email address without me knowing. I was surprised – not to mention very happy – to see an email from her the night of our first date. That was the start of thousands of meaningful email interactions.

We wrote each other when we were happy, sad, mad, excited, afraid, and everything in between. We’ve saved many of those emails. A few years ago for her birthday, I put together a large book of emails I had written to her over the years. She recently told that her favorite gift ever from me.

Creating that book was quite emotional for me – and it’s uncommon for me to be emotional. Looking back, those emails chronicled forks in the road, changes in our life, twists and turns in our relationship, as well as our maturation. You can track the course of relationship through those emails.

We endured a lot of tough times – especially in the beginning and even more so when I moved away. But we were always there for each other with encouraging words. We helped each other through challenges. We remained loyal. Those words on a computer screen bonded us tightly together.

What I see most in those emails is how much Gabrielle meant to me. How much I missed her. How badly I wanted her in my life.

How lucky I am to have her now.

It’s Gabrielle’s birthday today. If you’re reading, happy birthday sis!

I never know what to get you. It seems that nothing I think of is ever good enough. I want to do something special for you or give you something special because you always do so much for me.

I wish I could give you more time.

More words.

More energy.

More compassion.

More life.

More love.

I wish we didn’t have to work so much.

I wish we could spend this entire day together.

I wish we could spend every day together.

I am happier when we are together.

I am calmer.

I am healthier.

I am better.

I feel loved.

I love you.

I miss you when you are not here.

I miss your smile.

Your touch.

Your beauty.

Your smile.

Your voice.

Your smell.

Your presence.

Your comfort.

Your love.

I love that we are happy together.

Love that we are married.

Love that I get to see you every day.

Love that I get to hug you.

Love that I get to kiss you.

Love that I get to sleep next to you.

Love to hear your breathing peacefully during the night.

Love to run my fingers through your hair.

Love to look into your eyes.

Love to hear your voice.

Love that I love you.

Hope you have the best birthday ever Gabrielle! Because you deserve it.

Love you.

I thought for sure I knew what I wanted to do with my life back in the eighth grade. I was going to be a writer. A sportswriter.

I enjoy the creative side of writing. The imaginative side. The solidarity. In a small way, I liked that people would read my work.

I put all my energy, effort and heart into becoming a professional writer. I worked as a journalist for seven years at three newspapers. I loved the job most days. Oftentimes, I find myself dreaming of a return to those times again.

But reality always gets in the way. There was a reason – or a few reasons – I left that profession. The hours were long. The pay was miniscule. I worked most holidays, weekends, and nights. Newspapers were dying. I was burned out.

A good friend who is a plumber in Amherst, NY suggested that I look into plumbing as a profession when I was eyeing an exit from of newspapers. Sometimes I wish I had taken his advice. I went to grad school instead.

I have a job now with great pay, benefits and time off – the types of things I couldn’t imagine while working in the newspaper businesses. Millions would kill for what I have.

Yet, most days I find myself unfulfilled. The money, the benefits, the time … they don’t matter all that much. Sure, they’re pretty important to supporting yourself and family, but they don’t bring you happiness.

Doing what you love brings you true contentment. Problem is, I’m not exactly sure what my love is.

I know that I don’t like being tied to a desk eight hours a day. I don’t like constant interaction with colleagues. I don’t like meetings.

I like experiencing something different and new every day. I don’t have that right now.

Being a plumber could work, I suppose. There is solidarity. There is the reward of helping someone in need. There are different environments and new jobs every day.

My plumber friend loves what he does. He enjoys going to work. He gets paid well, too.

The introvert in me yearns for something else. I like to blend in. I like to hide. I don’t like to be seen. I like to come and go without anyone noticing. I like being behind the scenes.

I know this is neither about my wife or soon-to-be son, but it is an important component of my life. Our jobs become our lives. Sometimes I feel that way about mine. I bring work home. I wish I didn’t.

I wish I could be a better person for my family. Getting there is the challenge.

Change is hard. Change sucks. Billy Madison’s transition to high school proves it (see video at end of this post).

I’ve seen that clip it seems like a thousand times and it still brings a big smile to my face. It’s the stupid things like this we, fortunately, have in our lives to take our minds off the important things that stress us out.

My wife and I have endured quite a bit of change, and we’ve always persevered. We’ve known each other for more than 11 years now and have been married the last two. Every step of our relationship has been lined with challenges that we have had to overcome.

When I met Gabrielle she was only 17 going on 18. I was almost six years older. We were at very different stages of our lives. She was just starting college. I was working full time. I was ready for a committed relationship. She was not.

We dated for a while, and being with her made me happy. She made me feel comfortable and relaxed. During that time in my life, I didn’t like myself most days. I was depressed. Something was missing. It was someone like Gabrielle.

She made me feel good about myself. She brought me confidence and calm. Sometimes she made me feel flawless.

The way she listened intently and understood made me open up to her in a way I have never to anyone else before. I hate talking. I hate talking about myself more. But I liked talking to her.

But the timing wasn’t right. She was headed in one direction, me in another. She was young, and still trying to find herself. She wanted experiences that I couldn’t give her.

I was focused on her. She was focused on many other things.

We remained friends and spent a lot of time together. We just couldn’t be more at that point. That was hard for me. I know it was hard for her, too, because she knew it was hard for me.

Our relationship changed forever the day I moved away for a new job. Leaving her and our friendship saddened me, but I knew that it was the best decision for me at that point. I was looking forward to my new work and new surroundings. I figured we’d drift apart like most friends do.

But I missed her. And I couldn’t stop missing her.

She missed me, too.

We both grew and matured during our years apart. We visited every once in a while. Though we were far apart physically we grew closer. We realized what each of us meant to the other.

We loved each other very much. We still do. We always will.

True, change can be hard. But change is also necessary. As much as I don’t like it, I’m glad our life together changes as often as it does. It means we’re progressing. It means our love is growing. It means our bond is stronger.

Another change is around the corner. We’ll be parents soon. It will be hard, but it will make us better.

Those you who have been following along know by now that I am going to be a father very soon. I know, I can’t believe it either. Old Losifer is going to be a daddy.

When I was in junior high and high school I dreamed about meeting the woman of dreams, having three kids together, and living the perfect life. Nice neighborhood. Beautiful home. White picket fence. Family dog.

My dreams have basically come true. How often does that happen? I wake up every day knowing that I am one of the luckiest people alive.

Being a father is the ultimate prize and something I never thought would happen – no matter how much I dreamed about it. Being half loser/half devil I never drew much interest from the opposite sex. I stutter and stammer when I try talk on good days. Just thinking about approaching a female made me want to crawl into hole and never come back out.

By the time I graduated college and got my first job, I figured I was destined for a life of being single. That made me sad. I was depressed a lot. I yearned for a partner in life.

That’s when I met Gabrielle. I was smitten by her beautiful smile. It roped me in and didn’t let me go. It was so inviting that even I had to act. I picked myself up out of the hole and asked her on a date. The rest of is history. Our first child will be here soon.

I hope I’m a good father. I hope I’m patient. I hope I don’t yell. I hate that I often feel tense. I hope that I can relax and enjoy our child.

I know being a parent is a lot of work. That being said, I imagine it will be even more that what I expect. That scares me a little. Life as we know it is changing fast, but I know it is for the best.

Gabrielle will be the best mother. She is orderly, organized, perseverant, compassionate, and loving. She will be a super role model for our son. Like I am lucky to have her in my life, so too will he.

I give a lot of credit for Gabrielle for being so tough during her pregnancy. She seldom complains and has continued to remain the rock of her household. I hope she knows how much I appreciate her tireless demeanor in cooking dinner, doing the laundry, cleaning, washing the dishes, taking out the garbage, making our bed, and doing all the other things that she does. I wish she would rest more. I know that I should do more to make that happen.

Thanks again Gabrielle. For being my best friend. My wife. My support. My everything. I love you very much. I know that you will be the best mom ever, and that you will help me be the best dad I can be. Knowing this lessens my fears of becoming a father. I know that together we can do anything – even being great parents.