Dear Destiny, The story of my wife.

Dear Destiny, Nubia used to run away as a young girl during the summers on her grandparents’ Brazilian farm. She tied her things into a small backpack, grabbed her little boots, and walked out on her own. She went far enough to practice leaving, far enough to listen to whatever it was inside her that kept asking if there was more. When Nubia decided to leave Brazil for the United States, her grandma, Helena, told her, “Go. Everything will be fine. I’ll be praying for you.” It’s been a decade since then. J. R. R. Tolkien wrote, “All that glitters is not gold; not all those who wander are lost,” a line that has been repeated so often it risks losing its meaning. Nubia told me that she wandered in both ways: in pursuit of herself and in moments when she felt stuck. “Before I went to Montana, I was in California, and things weren’t going well,” she said. “I talked to my grandma Helena in a dream.” “I said, ‘Grandma, give me a sign.’” Nubia had been involved in politics since her university days. It was an election year, and several state directors had her on their radar. One opportunity came from a place she was unfamiliar with. Montana. Capitol? Helena. Grandma Helena had died during the pandemic. That dream hit Nubia hard. “It was the sign.” Nubia talks about her time in Helena with light in her eyes. “I found my fearless self again there,” she said. “The kid with the backpack and the boots on my grandparents’ farm reappeared, but as a woman.” I have lived in Utah since the pandemic. We met like many couples these days, via a social media app. Our shared love of the mountains, geopolitics, and the future gave us enough to meet and never leave each other’s sides. There are more chapters in our future, and the next one will be named Helena. Our baby girl is due in July. We’ve named her Helena as a tribute to Nubia’s grandmother, whom I never met, and to Helena, the city, a place I’ve never been. I joked that the name would come only a few days after meeting this little human. It would be a tribute to my mother, who left the hospital with me unnamed, then Anthony Jude, before landing on Robert Xavier. “Would you like to know the sex right now?” the nurse said. “Yes,” Nubia said. “It’s a baby girl.” I was as sure of something as I’ve ever been: Helena. The name that once belonged to a grandmother became a place. The place became a chapter in Nubia’s life. And now it becomes a person we have yet to meet. Three Helenas, each connected, each carrying something forward. You can call that a coincidence if you want. It would be the simpler explanation. And when we finally had enough distance from our beginning, enough time to learn who we are and why we’re here, you, Destiny, feel right. Thank you for the first Helena, who called her forward. Thank you for Helena, the place that helped remind her who she is. And thank you for the Helena we are about to meet. Love, Robert X. Fogarty