An Open Letter to the Father of my Son

Hi,

I don't even know how to greet you. Hello seems much too formal for someone who I share a child with. Though, maybe that's a good thing. Keep it unemotional. But how do I keep it unemotional? Maybe 'hey'. Nope. Too nonchalant. A letter of this gravity and emotional weight shouldn't be preceded by a 'hey'. Your name? No, it's been too long since we've communicated. Just sounds....unfamiliar.

You know, he's going to be three on Saturday. He's this whole person already. He's starting to come into his own. I see an adorable attitude emerging. He's rambunctious, like you. In the 1090 days I've spent with him, I still find any resemblance to you unsettlingly painful. I am left with a myriad of secret longings, which I would, of course, never tell you about. I would like to see pictures of you as a baby, a toddler, a schoolboy. Did he look just like you? Because in my baby pictures, I see so much of his face. I would like to visit the place where you come from, drink wine with your parents, to take a photo of you and I. If I were him, I'd want a photo of my parents together. Mostly, though, I want to know why you're not there for him, why he won't receive so much as a post card from you this weekend.

Anyways. I wonder what you're feeling. Right now, in this moment, and in all the moments of all the days since I last saw you.

Did you shield yourself from feeling pain when we moved so far away? Did you feel overwhelmed and stripped? Like you didn't know what you were supposed to do anymore? It's okay, you know. It's natures way of shielding you from feeling it all at once. Did you know in your heart that it was for the best? Did you take it personally? The more you thought about it, the stronger you were getting. If you knew it or not, you were getting stronger.

Were you angry? Angry at me for moving, for giving up on our relationship? Because he could've used you sticking around. I hope not, because you know we weren't getting along, and because your relationship with him shouldn't be affected by your relationship with me. Because he deserved your effort. Are you angry that you don't know him? Are you angry with yourself? If you are, don't let it keep you away. The door has been and will always be open. Please, if even the smallest part of you wants to, take the opportunity.

Did you run through the 'what if's and the 'if only's? I can tell you that there's very little merit in regret, but maybe you needed to think those things. Maybe you needed to process everything. I hope it didn't just find fault you or I, or what you thought should've been done differently. I'm sorry for the hurt you must've felt. He is a beautiful, smart, weasel-his-way-into-your heart kind of kid. I can't imagine what you felt.

Are you sad? Saddened because you aren't going to be here? Because you haven't been? Because of everything you've missed? Because of everything you will miss? His strong, soft little fingers tugging on your shirt, his shy smile hiding below the edge of the crib, with just his baby blue eyes glimmering at you from his dim room. His sloppy, wet, perfect kisses. His belly laughs, discovering his skills. Hell, mastering those skills? Feeling him sleep next to you. Hearing him sleep next to you. Are you sad because you didn't experience those things? I know we talked about them. I know you were excited.

Are you hurt? Hurt that I made it difficult by moving? Because you didn't stop me. Your phone calls and messages got fewer and further between. Your family stopped sending him gifts, then cards. Are you so hurt that you said things about the mother of your child, that you probably shouldn't have said? I hope not. Did I hurt you in the process of doing what was best for our boy? I didn't mean to. I really sincerely did not mean to.

I hope you wallowed for a while. I hope you allowed yourself to experience those feelings. It's the only way to get through them. But I hope you didn't let it destroy you. When he goes looking for you, I hope he finds a good, kind, accomplished man. I hope you don't let your time away from him slip away from you. Do something worthy of that gorgeous boy asleep in his bed right now.

I don't think I will ever understand why you removed yourself and your family from his life. Even if I were the absolute worst human being on the planet, he's still your son. You were there before he was born, feeling him kick, coming up with names. You put his crib together with me. You carried baby gear into the house. You were there when he was born, you were there when I was up all night sobbing because he wouldn't latch on. You were there singing inappropriate music to him and dancing that shimmy dance to 'Black Betty'. You changed his diapers and fell asleep with him, giving into the exhaustion. You dreamed a whole life for him.

How could you walk away from that?

What would you want me to tell him about you? What would you want me to say about you, when he asks? Because he will. I will answer his questions, and let him make his own mind up about you. Maybe you'll be back in his life by then. Even if just in some minimal way.

You have a beautiful son. One that has your ears. He's happy and healthy. I made sure he always had what he needed. Doctors and therapies and interventions (because you weren't there for the diagnosis, and the rollercoaster involved. I could've used you there. He could have used you there), I made sure he had them all. I fought hard for your boy. I will always fight for him. But I can't ever fill the void you left, no matter how hard I try. And I will never be able to tell him why you're not there, because to be honest, I can speculate, but I have no fucking idea.

So, I hope you're good. I hope you're happy, and achieving, and pursuing your dreams. I hope you're using your time to better yourself and be worthy of the son you don't know. Because he deserves that. I hope you're not hurting or sad. I hope you wonder about him. I even hope you worry. After all, isn't that what fathers are supposed to do?