Dear another absent father.

He was waiting for you to call, but another call was missed. He looked at me and asked “Where’s daddy Mummy” and another tear was shed – you make this easy to forget you as you have never been there – but a mere four-year-old who longs for a man, a man he calls dad, the man he hardly knows. My heart breaks for him, yet again.

He got mad at me when I couldn’t answer why you weren’t around – now he doesn’t ask at all, and you wonder why.

I want to tell you about the mix of anger, sadness and disappointment you have created in our lives. The absolute roller-coaster you happen to drag us through, when it’s convenient; because it suits you.
I want to tell you about everything you have missed and everything you have lost because you choose too, not because you are forced too.
I used to feel sorry for myself, sorry for being a single mum, raising this little boy on my own. But I realise it’s you who should be the sorry one.

I’m sorry you don’t get to see how truly amazing this little boy is every single day, sure you see photos or a quick video; sometimes, a visit sometimes more- but it’s simply not enough, and you just have no idea how incredible this little boy is. You can’t name his teacher or his best friend; you don’t know his favourite food or favourite colour. You wouldn’t have a clue because you are an absent father.

You’re missing the tantrums and the slamming doors, yes there is good and bad – well, we are human after all.
You’re missing the sleepless nights and the fights, snotty noses and a dirty face, coughing and sneezing and cuddles in place. Struggles to get him bathed and ready for bed, Arguments over veggies and ice cream instead. You’re missing the what, who’s and why’s and you’re missing being curled up with him in the cold winter nights. You’re missing out on reading his favourite book twice and watching cars 3 for the hundredth time. You’re missing out on being his best friend and being smothered in kisses. The laughs, the tickles and attitude, you’re missing out on it all, you’re missing him riding his bike and discovering new things: dirty hands and stained clothes. Sometimes, nothing at all. You’re missing the good, bad and ugly and seeing him grow. You’re missing the scrapes on his knees and all the beautiful things that follow.

I shouldn’t get so upset over you, but you have proved over and over you can’t be trusted. I have lost my complete sense of self-worth to you, still to this day. I’m exhausted and tired. And yes, he is absolutely cherished and adored, he is clothed, washed and looked after and it it’s such a reward; but understand, a little boy so precious should know his father loves him and thinks about him every day, too. He needs to hear it from you often and to be shown with actions and effort.
Fathers were created to play the role of a protector. Fathers are meant to provide, nurture and guide. Sadly, this is not the case with you, and for that, I genuinely feel sorry for you.
Always know that we will be okay, even if you show you don’t care. But also know that a day will come when he asks the questions ‘why’, I hope you have the answers because I don’t know what I’ll tell him. In the end, while he hurts. You’re the one only missing out. Gosh, his beautiful, courageous and strong just like his mummy – where he belongs.

You’ll look back one day, and it will surely break your sorry heart.