To the father of my kids, a familiar face that feels distant, I’m not angry with you. I feel sorrow for you.
You’re missing out on so much.
As I dropped off my heart at your place this past Friday, the first time you’d seen the boys in over a month, your reality hit me hard. I noticed the emptiness in your gaze—the same void I’ve always recognized. I tried to fill it with love, with our boys, but it’s still there.
I could hear the roughness in your voice, a telltale sign of too many cigarettes the night before. You had likely spent the day in bed, too unwell to move. I understood that you felt terrible, and I realized you wouldn’t be able to fully engage with our sons.
Your hangover was palpable, and I was reminded of countless weekends spent in this same cycle. My heart sank as I wrestled with the pain of seeing you like this and having to leave our children in your care. Memories came flooding back—memories I wished to forget.
I forced a smile, pretending everything was alright, only asking if you felt okay. You assured me you were fine, but I knew better.
You’re not okay.
And you’re missing everything.
You are meant to be a role model. A man they admire and aspire to be like. A man who shows them how to navigate life and whom they can depend on. But that’s not who you are.
Oh, the boys love you, and they look up to you now, but you’re not guiding them to be the men they should become. They can’t rely on you.
That same night, just hours after I left, you texted me, revealing what you wouldn’t admit. “I know you won’t want to hear this, and you’ll probably use it against me, but I’m throwing up and can’t stop sweating. It’s kinda scaring me. And no, I haven’t been drinking.”
I recognized the signs of alcohol withdrawal. I had seen this before, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last time.
Honestly, I was relieved to get your message. Even without your acknowledgment of the real source of your sickness, my instincts told me the boys needed to come home with me. Thank you for being aware enough to admit you couldn’t care for them that night, even if you couldn’t face the truth of it.
Anger has faded, replaced by sadness when I see you. I feel pity for you and those who fall for your charm and false promises. I long for something different, but I’ve let go of that hope.
I never wanted to wish that you would walk away from the boys, but the truth is, you already have.
While you drown your time with them in alcohol, I’m savoring every moment with them. While you’re entangled with whoever, I’m teaching them how to use their toy tools. While you nestle into your hangover, I’m cuddling our children.
Your dating life? Well, so is mine. Three loves, to be precise. Mine are built to last a lifetime, while yours will be fleeting.
While you make excuses, I’m creating memories.
And you’re missing everything.
When you do manage to spend time with them, you squander it texting me about the amusing things they’ve said, forgetting I’m the one who hears it all the time. I know they’re hilarious.
You’re astonished by their knowledge as if it’s news to me too. I know they’re bright. I’m the one teaching them.
You’re surprised when they show affection to one another. I know they’re sweet; they learned that from me.
While you’re focused on yourself in this life you claim to enjoy, you’re missing everything.
You don’t realize that Ethan loves being swung high on the swing, but only if he can see my face. You don’t know that Connor enjoys a gentle swing because going too high frightens him. You’re unaware that they’ve started dressing themselves in their own unique ways, or what their favorite foods, songs, and games are. You don’t see how much they love to dance.
You’re missing the fact that Luke is a delightful mix of wild and gentle. You don’t know that Connor hides when he feels shy. You’re probably not aware that they want to play soccer and t-ball and are likely to excel at it.
You likely won’t attend their practices or games. I will be the one cheering them on, and it’s my face they’ll search for in the crowd.
You don’t know how to guide them towards becoming gentlemen because you’re still a boy yourself.
You’re missing everything.
When they were born, my world transformed, while yours remained unchanged. You overlooked the beauty of what we created together and the significance of your role. You never truly wanted it, but you accepted it. Now, you’re missing everything.
I’m not angry anymore; I’m simply sad for you. Because you are missing everything. And I’m not.
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Summary: This heartfelt letter reflects on the sadness of a father missing out on the precious moments of his children’s lives due to his personal struggles. The narrator expresses a mix of pity and acceptance while highlighting the joys and milestones that the children are experiencing without him.