An honest letter to the man who abandoned his child





To the father of my precious son,






I don't know where you are, I don't know how you are doing but I am writing this in the hope that one day this reaches you somehow.




I opened my diary today on a random page to scribble something down when it hit me. 

I had opened the diary at Sunday 19th June. Do you know what that day means?



Sunday 19th June is Father's day.


So, we approach another father's day of not knowing where to look or how to fill the time. Last year, my still-half-asleep-self innocently logged onto Facebook around 7am, only to be unwillingly met with a feeling similar to being kicked in the gut and having my heart ripped out simultaneously, as I scrolled past the hundreds of "Happy Father's Day to the best daddy!" posts accompanied by cute family photos and snaps of proud fathers holding their newborns for the first time. 




When I opened my diary on that dreaded page this morning, I was greeted with a similar emotion and naturally it got me thinking about you, which in all honesty isn't at all unusual, but I suddenly realized something.
The adrenaline wasn't rushing through my body like it used to.



 I think the anger I have felt over the years has packed its bags and hopped away to another place.




It's been just over three years since we last saw each other and yet I can still remember everything about you and the way that you anxiously presented yourself on that pivotal evening when you handed me the letter stating that you didn't want to be a father. That was the last time I ever saw your face or heard your voice and somehow, it only feels like yesterday. I feel as though I still know you. 


Well, in a way, I do.


I know you because I see you every time I look at my only child.


He resembles you. Every single day he resembles you and he makes me proud. He's intelligent and so funny: just like you. He reminds me of the person I used to know in you; somebody that I used to feel enamored of. 


I wonder if the days have flown by for you as they have for us. I suspect not. 

Does your heart feel sick each time you walk past a father with his child in the street? Do you study each and every toddler you pass by, wondering if your son is anything like them? When family friends ask if you've got plans to have a family one day, what do you say? Do the people in your new life even know that you have a son out there somewhere?


There are so many questions I wish I could ask you, I'd give whatever it took to know the truth about what went through your mind, but for now; I want you to know something.


I forgive you. 






I forgive you for leaving us. I forgive you for running away and although I will never be able to comprehend how you have maintained the will-power to stay away, I suppose I understand a little more now.

I understood your reaction, I understood your fear and I understood the way you tried to free yourself from the situation within which you felt powerless and afraid.


In the heat of the moment, I hated you. 
I hated the way you only saw yourself within a situation which determined the future of three people's lives,not just one. 
I hated you on behalf of our unborn child and I hated you because you disappointed me more than anybody ever had.


38 months later; things are a little different.
I can place my hand over my heart as I write this now and I can honestly say that I don't hate you. I don't even resent you.  

Truthfully, I'm not sure how I feel towards you but if anything, I feel sad for you and I feel sorry that you have missed out on knowing the one person who would have beautified your life, unquestionably.


I emailed you when our son was born, and probably every month and week thereafter, until he turned one and I gave up. I don't know if you received those messages, I don't know if you looked at the pictures I sent you, but if you had done, you wouldn't need me to tell you that he is absolutely beautiful.

Your son is happy and healthy. 
His life is full of joy and laughter. 
He is turning three this year and he is exceptional. Of course, I am biased but I'm pretty sure that the lady in the supermarket the other day came without biased judgement and she,too,said he was wonderful. In fact, everybody who has ever had the chance to know or meet him, feels the need to comment on what a nice-nature he has.


Sometimes, I wonder if you're okay. I wonder if the choices you've made have had a detrimental effect on your life. I want to know if you're happy. I question if you're truly coping with the choice you made. I wonder if you feel it was the right choice. 

Mostly, I wonder if you think about your son. 

Besides guessing, wondering and overthinking every last word you ever said to me, I am clueless. I don't know how you really feel.

Maybe you feel guilty. Maybe you don't.




I can't help but feel disappointed and somewhat frustrated by the fact that you have already missed so much. I wish I could put into words what you are missing, but it's impossible to do so. 

You have missed moments that are never going to be repeated. You have lost out on every new milestone; each part of his personality unraveling; the great times; the hard times; the fits of laughter; the moments of madness and all of the in-between moments that a camera never quite captured.

Just trust me when I say that you are missing out on life's purest form of love, the most fulfilling kind of happiness, overwhelming amounts of pride and the greatest bond you could've ever built with anyone. I won't pretend that your actions were justifiable, I won't take back the angry words I threw at you and I definitely won't conceal the fact that you made a life changing, self centred and far-too-hasty decision. But I understand that it was a choice fueled mostly by fear. 


I know you were afraid that you wouldn't be good enough; afraid that you lacked the stability to be a positive role model, but he's your son and you are his blood. Nothing else would've mattered

Although he never knew you, I know he would've loved you.

You don't have to be a 'natural' with children to become a great father. You don't have to be permanently strong and flawless in order for your child to think the world of you.

He would adore you, I just know that. 


I haven't yet approached or even attempted to approach the whole "what I will tell my son when he grows up" thing. 
I don't know why, I probably should do seeing as he's a fast learner and he's already stringing sentences together. 
I suppose a part of me wonders whether things might have changed by then and the other part of me simply doesn't have a clue how to tell a child that his father didn't want him.


From a selfish point of view, I hope I never have to have that conversation with him. I know that it is inevitable but it breaks my heart. 



You should know that I will never speak badly of you to him and that I will always allow room for the "what if" scenario. I promise to do my best to explain to him that you just weren't ready.


I am doing my very best to ensure that his upbringing is pleasant and filled with special moments to carry through to his adult years. I am raising our son to the very best of my abilities and I hope that one day, deep down, you will be proud of him, and maybe even proud of me in some way.

Lastly, I want to say thank you. Despite my feelings towards your decision to leave, I am somewhat thankful for the fact that you have remained consistent. Financially and in terms of your decision, your consistency has allowed us to make a great start to a wonderful future- whatever it may hold.

The door will always remain open,

C.




























 


Rhyming with Wine