The Wyatt Codex is still becoming.
When I lost my son, Wyatt, it felt like the ground gave way beneath me. I didn’t just lose him, I lost the future I thought I’d have. No first laugh, no footsteps echoing down the hallway, no memories to tuck away in quiet moments. Just a vast, aching silence.
For a long time, I didn’t know if I could call myself a father. How could I, when I never got to hold him, never saw his eyes or hold my nose up against his skin? Even so, over time, something in the stillness began to change. I started to feel him - not as a thought, but as a presence. Not imagined, but real. He didn’t speak in words, but I heard him. In the cracks of my grief, he became my teacher. He showed me that fatherhood isn’t only physical - it’s spiritual and eternal.
This Codex is part of that unfolding. It’s not polished, not perfect, it’s alive. It's where love continues after loss, where sorrow and spirit intertwine, and where something sacred begins to take form. A space carved from absence, but filled with meaning.
The Wyatt Codex is for those learning to live with a heart that remembers. For the ones grieving what never had a chance to fully be, yet still changed them forever. It's for fathers, mothers, wanderers, and mystics - those walking the quiet path between what was and what could’ve been.
And it’s for the seekers... for those who hold space for their lost loved ones, who listen in the stillness for their gentle guidance. For those who search the stars and listen to the wind, and look to the birds all as messengers from spirit. If you are here, this is for you.
Thank you for being here, while the Codex slowly, sacredly, finds its way into the world.
And thank you to Wyatt, my son... who continues to show me that love transcends realms, reaches across time, and sits with me in the dark of night… but also in the brightness of morning.
From now on, every part of the great work I do, or will ever do - will be in your name, as we work together through life.
I hope I make you proud.
Love, Dad. xox