To the father of my kids, a familiar face that feels like a stranger, I’m not filled with rage anymore. Instead, I’m filled with sorrow for you.
You’re missing so much.
As I left my heart at your apartment this past Friday for the first time in over a month, while you had the boys, I couldn’t help but notice the void in your expression. The same void I’ve always seen. The same void I tried to fill with my love and with our sons.
Your voice was rough, a clear sign of the cigarettes you smoked the night before. I knew you had spent the day in bed, too ill to even get up. It was heartbreaking to realize you wouldn’t be able to fulfill your role as a father. The familiar scent of your hangover washed over me, and I felt a wave of sadness as I remembered all those weekends I had witnessed this before. The ache in my stomach grew as I suppressed the pain of leaving our children in your care.
I smiled and pretended that everything was alright, asking if you were feeling okay, all the while knowing the answer.
You insisted you were fine, but I knew better.
You’re not fine. And you’re missing everything.
You’re meant to be a role model—a man they can look up to and admire. A figure who teaches them how to navigate life. But you’re failing at that.
They love you, and for now, they look up to you. But you’re not showing them how to be strong, dependable men. You’re not giving them the support they need.
Later that evening, you texted me, revealing what you wouldn’t admit to my face. “I know you’re not gonna want to hear this, and you’ll probably use it against me, but I’m throwing up and sweating a lot. It’s scaring me. And no, I haven’t been drinking.”
I recognized the signs of alcohol withdrawal long before you did. This isn’t your first encounter with it, and it won’t be your last.
Honestly, I was relieved to receive your message. Even without your acknowledgment of the real reason behind your state, I was grateful to bring my boys back home. My instincts told me they needed me, and you were in no condition to look after them. So thank you for realizing you couldn’t care for them that night, even if you couldn’t understand why.
I no longer carry anger towards you; it has transformed into a profound sadness. I feel pity for your situation and for those who fall for your charm and empty promises. I wish things were different, but I’ve learned to let go.
I never wanted to wish that you’d release the boys from your life, but the truth is, you already have.
While you waste time with distractions, I’m savoring every moment with them. While you engage in questionable relationships, I’m the one teaching them how to build and create. While you sleep off your hangover, I’m cuddling our children. While you juggle fleeting romances, mine are built on a foundation of love that lasts a lifetime, unlike your passing flings.
While you make excuses, I’m busy making memories.
You often text me the amusing things they say as if I’m not the one with them every day. I already know how hilarious they are. You’re shocked by their knowledge, thinking it’s a revelation we’re both sharing. I’m the one guiding their learning.
You seem surprised when they show affection to each other. I’m the one who taught them how to love.
While you live for yourself, lost in your self-indulgent lifestyle, you’re missing everything.
You don’t realize that Ethan loves being swung high on the swing set but only if he can see my face. You don’t know that Connor enjoys being swung, but just a little, because he’s scared of heights. You have no idea that they’ve started dressing themselves in their unique ways or what their favorite foods and songs are. You don’t know that they enjoy dancing or that Luke possesses a wild yet sweet spirit. You don’t know that Connor hides when he feels shy, nor that they’re eager to play soccer and t-ball, where they’ll undoubtedly shine.
You probably won’t be at their games and practices. It will be me cheering them on, and it’s my face they’ll search for in the stands.
You’ve yet to learn how to guide them in becoming gentlemen because you’re still an immature boy at heart.
You’re missing everything.
From the moment they were born, my life transformed. Yours remained stagnant. You overlooked the beauty of what we created and the significance of your role. You never truly embraced it, but you accepted it. And now, you’re missing everything.
I’m not angry with you anymore; I simply feel sorrow for you. Because you are missing so much. And I’m not.
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Summary: In a heartfelt letter to her ex-partner, a mother reflects on the emotional distance that has grown between them. She expresses her sadness over his choices that lead him to miss significant moments in their children’s lives. While she embraces every moment with their kids, he remains lost in his struggles, ultimately missing the beauty of fatherhood.