An Interesting Scene Got Me Thinking

Earlier this evening while outside on the balcony, I witnessed a moment that made me smile.  And then it got me thinking.  The scene, a father with his son, trying to teach the young boy to ride a small tricycle, created an ache within me that has been here ever since I moved, but has never really manifested itself, until now.

I really miss him.

I miss his curly hair, which mimics my own, when I was a child.  I miss his small fingers that are always grasping, and at night, when he sleeps beside me, usually find some way to play with my beard.  I miss that tiny voice, a ball full of cuteness, which spills out thoughts many years beyond his age.  And I miss those eyes, innocent and reassuring, telling me that no matter what choices I've made, there is love that lives within them.

I fear one day it will vanish.  That in my absence, it'll be less actions and more choices.  And admittedly, I've made some poor ones.  Beyond the fact that I chose to be a horrible match for his mother, I am afraid that my son will see my moving here as a decision to place him second.  That the better life I seek for myself, him, and all of our families, will do very little to sleight the sting of me not being there.  For the first few months of his life, I was there every day.  Many of those days, the very first and last set of eyes he'd see when waking or before falling asleep would be my own.  I hope, for both our sake, he has subconsciously latched hold of these memories, and he uses them as a blanket for the chill of far too many days where I am gone.  I don't want my son to only know me as a handful of scattered visits and awkward phone calls.

I want to hold him in my arms and tell him

"Just because I'm not there, it doesn't mean I don't love you."

I want to kiss him and squeeze him tightly, making him laugh and smile, and never cry.

I want to show him how much he means to me.

Because I fear at some point, these days will matter.  And my absence will speak louder than any words.

One day, my son may ask me,

"Daddy, why did you go?"

I guess I just hope that the answer I give him is enough to salvage his love, which I can't help but feel is lessening.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet