This Shit Is Hard: A Love Letter from an Imperfect Father

Trying to raise a child while healing the one inside me.

Today I cried.
It had been a while. And it felt good.
The origin was hard to pinpoint, but the closest I could get was a deep, almost crushing wave of love—and the immense responsibility that comes with it.

I’ve been a father for seven years.
And a son for forty-two.

Becoming a father wasn’t something I ever knew would happen. It wasn’t a dream I had or a role I aspired to. My relationship with my own father didn’t inspire me to follow in his footsteps. I saw the strain fatherhood put on him. I saw how he handled it. And, of course, I saw myself as the reason for that strain.
If I hadn’t existed, he wouldn’t have had to carry that weight… right?