I started this blog because I felt like I had to provide an explanation for the deficiencies I had as a father. Yet, until this point, I’ve written nothing. So when the burn that drives me to the page, to sit down and write ignited, I had to ask myself, “Why now?” I’m writing because I’m lonely. I’m writing because the void in my heart that only you can fill has grown so large it will never be full. I spent so much time fighting to get back to you after you were taken away that my ability to be present was crippled. Anything worth preserving, worth commemorating, demands one’s full attention. I haven’t been able to devote my attention to anything since my wife and family aligned to keep me away from them, and you.
When the people whose opinions you once valued decide you’re not worth the effort, or that you are easy to discard, it’s difficult to dismiss. I haven’t had a single day of certainty in my life since the break occurred that left me alone. I’m writing tonight because I’m still uncertain. I’m uncertain about my value to you, in your lives. I never found my way back despite that being the only consistent goal of each day since.
It took years for me to learn I couldn’t change where I was, or what happened. It took longer to learn to accept it. I came to believe that whatever role I played in your lives was the one that was best for you. With no capacity left for pain, I found gratitude. I’m grateful for every moment we shared, and every memory that still lingers. I’m grateful for having known you. It was a privilege to participate in your life whether it was for thirty seconds or its entirety. I can’t control the events that texture a life. I can’t change the people I share my life with. But I can change my perspective. I can change the way I feel. I don’t feel lonely, anymore. . .
