To the father of my kids, a familiar face that feels like a stranger, I don’t harbor anger toward you. Instead, I feel a profound sadness for what you are missing.
You are absent from so many precious moments.
As I left my heart with you during my visit this past Friday—the first time you had seen our children in over a month—I was struck by the reality of your situation. The emptiness in your gaze mirrored what I have always seen. I once believed that my love, coupled with the love of our sons, could fill that void.
Hearing the raspiness in your voice, a result of too many cigarettes the night before, I knew you had spent the day in bed, too unwell to move. I recognized the signs of your struggles, and the weight of leaving my children in your care filled me with dread. Memories surged back, flooding my mind with pain.
I smiled and pretended everything was fine, only asking if you were okay. You assured me you were fine, but I knew better.
You’re not fine. And you’re missing everything.
You should be a role model—someone they admire and aspire to emulate. You should be teaching them what it means to be a man, someone they can depend on. But you fall short.
They love you, and in this moment, they look up to you. But you are not providing the guidance they need, nor can they rely on you.
That same night, you sent me a text message, revealing a truth you struggled to accept. “I know you’re not gonna want to hear this and you’re probably going to use it against me somehow, but I’m throwing up really bad and I can’t stop sweating. It’s kinda scaring me. And no, I haven’t drank.”
I recognized the signs of alcohol withdrawal; I could see it coming long before your admission. This cycle is all too familiar, and it won’t end anytime soon.
I felt a sense of relief when you reached out. Despite your inability to acknowledge the true cause of your suffering, I was grateful to bring our children back home. My instincts told me they needed me, and you were not in a state to care for them. Thank you for recognizing your limitations that night, even if you couldn’t identify the reason.
My feelings towards you have shifted. No longer do I feel anger; instead, sadness engulfs me as I observe your choices. I pity your situation and those who fall for your empty promises. I wish things could be different, but I have moved on.
I never wanted to wish that you would let our children go, but the truth is, you already have.
While you squander your time with them, I am cherishing every moment. While you indulge in fleeting relationships, I am the one teaching them vital skills, like how to use their plastic toolset. While you languish in bed, I am embracing our children.
You may be dating new people, but I am investing in love that will last, while yours are mere one-night encounters. As you make excuses, I am busy creating lasting memories.
You are missing everything.
When you do spend time with them, you often share snippets with me, expressing surprise at their humor or knowledge, as if these moments are revelations to both of us. I am intimately aware of their brilliance; I am the one nurturing their growth.
You are unaware of Ethan’s preference for being swung high on the swing set—only facing me—or that Connor enjoys being swung, but only “a tiny bit” because he fears going too high. You don’t know that they have taken to dressing themselves in their unique ways or that they love to dance. You don’t see Luke’s wild, sweet nature or recognize that Connor often hides when he feels shy. They have dreams of playing soccer and t-ball, and they will shine in those pursuits.
You likely won’t be present for their practices and games. It will be me cheering them from the sidelines, and my face will be the one they seek in the crowd.
You haven’t learned how to guide them toward becoming gentlemen because you remain lost in your own immaturity.
You are missing everything.
The moment they were born, my life transformed entirely while yours remained static. You have overlooked the beauty of what we created together and the significance of your role. You may have accepted that role, but you never truly embraced it. Now, you are missing everything.
I am not angry anymore; I simply feel sorrow for you. You are missing everything, and I am not.
For more insights on home insemination and fertility options, you can explore resources like March of Dimes, which provides valuable information, or check out Make a Mom for guidance on your fertility journey. Additionally, if you’re considering at-home insemination, our guide on at-home intracervical insemination syringe kits will help you navigate your options.
In summary, while one parent remains engaged in the lives of their children, the other is lost in their own struggles. The importance of being a present and nurturing figure cannot be overstated; otherwise, the opportunity to form meaningful connections and memories is lost.
Keyphrase: missing everything
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