I believe in the love of a father. Ideally it would be unconditional, never ending and there in a moments notice, the love of a father. I am lucky to be one of the people who have a father like this; however, my son can’t say the same. My son turned three years old this month. At an age that is full of questions, he rarely inquires about his father. Could it be due to the lack of attention that was shown to him when his father was around? I don’t know, and quite frankly I refuse to spend any more time worrying if he will turn out all right, or if he will be permanently scarred from this. If a mother’s love has anything to do with it, he will be fine. To say that my dad has enough love for both of us wouldn’t be a far stretch, at least my dad doesn’t think so. However, it’s not his father’s love. It’s not the same love that plays catch or takes you fishing for the first time.
I have not lost hope for a turn around, a relization on his part, of what he is missing in being a father. I still believe in a father’s love. I have often thought about, and made excuses for the lack of attention he gives to our son. Was it his upbringing and the absence of his father that has rendered him this way? Does he not know how to be a father? It saddens me in a way, to know all the things he’s missing out on. All the kisses and hugs that I get every day.
I made an effort, when we were married, to try and get him to build somewhat of a relationship with his dad. Unfortunately, with too many hard feelings and not a strong enough disire that it could be done, a relationship was never created.
I envision my son’s future, so bright and full of unimaginable opportunities. Going through the trials of life with his mother by his side, and if nothing else, the love of his grandfather. To raise a fine and disciplined young man, this is what my father has pledged to me. Can I ever thank my father enough for being so brave, in the midst of a divorce that is unquestionably the hardest time I have ever faced? I know the answer to this is to just make it through, and that would be thanks enough. With every new day comes the hope of a greater plan, a plan that could make sense of all the confusion. I have to believe that there is such a thing. I believe in a father’s love, and if not a father’s, a grandfather’s will do.
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