I held you that first morning, your tiny hands grasping at mine.
You were so small, vulnerable and full of potential.
The moment I looked in your eyes I swore to myself that I would raise you to be a good man, I wanted nothing more than for you to be happy.
You didn’t need to change the world; it was just better with you in it.
I never told you, but I cried for days when I first brought you home. The weight of responsibility was too much for me to bare. I had to shape another life, teach you right from wrong, help you to understand the world, or at the very least, make sense of the chaos.
I didn’t feel I was capable. How could I make you the person I never was?
I’d hold you in the dark, cradling you, singing songs between my quiet staccato weeping.
I never wanted to be a father.
You didn’t seem to mind.
As you grew, I did too. I thought I was to be your mentor, but you taught me so much more. I tried to resist, but you changed me.
You made me care about life again.
I watched your first steps, heard your first words, I was there the day you realised what death was.
You held the family cat in your arms, her lifeless body dangling awkwardly as you tried desperately to wake her from her slumber.
You couldn’t.
I had never witnessed such deep pain in someone’s eyes.
Until today.
You didn’t understand. It broke me so profoundly I don’t think I ever truly recovered.
I lied to you that day.
It was to be the first of many.
There was a better place after this life. Where cat’s roamed free, together, with all the toys and food they could ever want. A paradise.
It was a merciful lie.
I tried to spare you the realisation of truth.
Yet you learned quickly, you grew in mind, body and spirit.
On your first day of school as you clung to my legs, you wept till your tiny throat was hoarse. You couldn’t bring yourself to let go. I tried to comfort you, but I failed.
I failed you many times.
As we stood by the door of the classroom, your teacher asked your name. You were silent, distracted, in shock, but the sounds of sobbing had caught your attention. A small girl in the corner of the classroom was crying, her head in her hands.
Without a word, you walked right past your teacher and sat next to her.
Arms open you hugged her.
You told her it was going to be alright.
That was the proudest moment of my life.
It was my gift to you, my empathy.
In my heart I knew it was also a burden, an affliction that would cause you much pain.
It did
but
it’s better to feel too much than too little.
Time moved so quickly, you began to comprehend the world, to learn, to reason, to choose.
I tried my best. To give you all the things I thought you would need. To ready you for the coming storm.
Then suddenly, you were in high school. There were parties, girls, and friends.
We didn’t talk much then, you were so angry.
At the world, at me.
I understood.
I don’t blame you, not for the harsh words you spoke, or the pain you caused me. The heartache and concern.
This was your journey, and it was yours alone.
I helped when I could. My advice often fell on deaf ears, but that was to be expected. You had to make your own choices, your own mistakes.
I never stopped loving you.
not for a second.
You were smart, too intelligent for school to keep you focused.
You wrote beautifully, with an honesty and integrity that was so rare in life.
The short story you wrote for my 45th birthday still sits in my draw. I read it every year.
I cry every time.
Don’t tell your mother that.
The drama and anguish of your teen years soon gave way to adulthood. You grew so quickly in that time. You had so much integrity.
You were everything I ever wanted you to be.
Caring, humble, honest. You always remained true to yourself.
People loved you.
I had given as much as I could to make you into the man you are now.
You soon fell in love, moved out and married.
Soon enough, you had your own children.
I loved them dearly, and I knew you would be an amazing father.
You would learn from my mistakes. Just as I had learned.
Those final years came so quickly, my body slowly faded, and I grew weary.
As I lay in that hospital bed I recall asking myself, over and over again, was it a life lived? Did I do all I could have done?
On many days, I was filled with such regret and yet, when you came to see me, my spirits were lifted and I realised that I would be leaving this world, a better place.
Because I made you.
I found peace in that.
On that last day, as my breathing slowed and my body waned, you were there.
You cried and sang to me.
Familiar songs.
You held my hand, as I moved on.
My last thoughts, were of love,
and pride.
I shake my head, and I wake from this illusion. I am struck by the cold, hard reality.
I sit silently, under the stark, fluorescent light, and I am filled with such shame and regret. I am selfish, a coward, blinded by insecurity and vanity. Overcome by fear.
It is only now that I have come to realise, as she returns from the procedure, as I see the look in her eyes, the very same look you gave me as a child, that I never gave you that chance.
To prove me right, to be the person I knew you could have been.
We took all of it from you.
For you never existed.
You were but potential, a spark of life, extinguished. You were never given the choice.
I robbed the world of you.
Now, it is a lesser place, without you in it.
So the tears that now well in my eyes, are my eulogy for you. For you were cursed to be conceived,
by a man who had lost his soul.
I am,
truly sorry.
Forgive me, for I can never forgive myself.