Sunday, April 26, 2009

April 18, 2009 - Dear Dad - soccer

Dear Dad,
As I watched Max run around during his soccer game I thought of you.
I know how much you liked watching me and my brothers play sports.

Now I get it.

There was something magical about seeing Max in his uniform, running up and down the field with a sense of pure joy made me tingle.


It's moments like this that I regret not being able to talk to you. I want to know what moments gave you that same kick. I want to know what you liked about being a dad, what you regret and what you feel when you see your grandson -- or me as a dad.

We never had conversations like these; that's another regret.


Wednesday, April 22, 2009

April 13, 2009 Dear Therapist,

Dear Therapist,
I had this scary dream.

Max and I were lost somewhere and a stranger offered to give us a ride. First, they took us to their
club. There, we were wined and dined and eventually Max took off to play with the other children.

After awhile, I realized Max wasn't coming back. I tried to go to him but was stopped by a man.

"You can leave, he said. "But he's staying here."


Trying to get Max was useless. There was too many of them.

"I'm staying," I said.


"Don't do it for him," the man said. "In a week he won't remember you're his dad. In six months he won't recognize you at all."


I stayed.

I saw Max disappearing from me. I could see him from a distance. But he never looked at me.


One day, he was in a line of children and he was about to pass right by me without so much as a glance in my direction.


"I love this boy," I said repeating the phrase I say to him every night before he falls asleep.

He turned toward me and gave me a puzzled look.


So therapist, "What's it mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

I woke up about then with such mixed strong emotions. I was scared to lose my boys. And I was somewhat satisfied to know that despite him not even being three-years-old, there is an unbreakable connection. I felt like it meant that my boys will remember me no matter what.