Jack
It is not your fault
that I walk on a different shore
as you make your way through the world.
It is not your fault
that what should have held you
broke
and left absence in its shape.
Know this.
Even with oceans between us
you live inside my heart.
I cannot name the wounds you carry
or those still waiting in the dark.
But I have sat in circles of men,
witnessed the marks of fathers
both present and absent.
And I know my own wound clearly,
the ache of not being the father
you deserved in every moment.
So this is what I know of wounds.
This world does not move gently.
You will be marked by it.
Some marks will teach you.
Some will try to hollow you.
Tend them.
Be gentle with yourself when you bleed.
Do not build your home inside the injury.
Guard against the infections of bitterness,
shame,
and the lie of being alone.
You are loved by your father.
You are valued by your father.
And wherever you stand in the world,
my door is open.
