Page 40 of October
I cleared my throat and started.
"I'm sorry Jimmy."
The words came out flat and unceremonious. No speech. No lead-up. Just the truth, exposed and vulnerable.
"I've been absent," I said, my voice low but steady. "Not just physically—though God knows I missed too many dinners, too many games, too many ordinary moments. I've been absent in all the ways that really matter. Emotionally. Mentally. I let the noise of work and responsibility drown out the sound of your voice... of your mom's voice. I thought if I kept everything afloat, it was enough."
I shook my head and stared out at the open field, where the last of the kids were starting to wander off with their parents.
"I was ignorant," I went on. "And arrogant. I thought being a provider made me a good man. A good father. I thought if I just showed up every now and then—with a box of your favorite cookies, or the new soccer ball you circled in the catalog—that it counted. That it added up to love."
A breeze rustled through the trees above us, catching the tips of Jimmy's hair and making the shadows dance on the grass. A few dry leaves broke free from their branches, spiraling downward like slow-falling confessions. One landed by my shoe, crumbling at the edges, weightless and brittle.
"But that wasn't love," I whispered, almost afraid of hearing myself say it. "It was convenience. It was fear. I convinced myself I was doing enough because it was easier than asking what you actually needed. Easier than listening. Easier than showing up every single day, not with gifts, but with presence."
My eyes stung, but I didn't look away.
"It was the bare minimum," I said. "But I dressed it up and called it devotion. I gave you crumbs, Jimmy. And I convinced myself it was a feast. I was so sure I was doing right by you, that I was being a man you could be proud of. But the truth is... I was hiding behind my excuses. Behind my silence. Behind what was comfortable."
I let the words hang there for a while. Not because I expected a response, but because I didn't deserve one. Because I needed to sit in the silence I had created over the years. Then, softer, because my voice couldn't hold the weight anymore, I said: "It's all my fault."
The words came out stripped bare, no excuses left to cling to:"I'm sorry if I haven't said it enough. I'm sorry if I said it too late. But I do love you, Jims. More than you can imagine. More than I ever knew how to say. And I'm sorry I failed to show you."
I looked at him, really looked this time. At the boy who was becoming a man right in front of me. At the same time a stranger and my son. His face was unreadable.
"I thought I was doing the right thing. Providing. Protecting. Working myself hollow so you'd never feel what I did growing up. But somewhere along the way, I mistook presence for pressure. I stopped being here... and just started existing nearby."
I swallowed hard, throat tight. "I let your mom carry the love, the listening, the everything. And that wasn't fair. Not to her. Not to you. And now I'm standing here trying to undo years of silence with a few desperate words."
His ice cream was melting. Neither of us moved.
"I love you," I said again, more quietly this time, like a vow. "Not just as my son, but as someone I admire. For your strength. For your heart. For standing up for the woman who carried us both longer than she should've had to."
A pause.
"I just hope it's not too late to be better.""
Jimmy still didn't say anything. .
"As for your mom..." I paused, swallowing the lump that threatened to cut off my breath. "I know I hurt her. I didn't see it at first, but now I can't unsee it. I took her for granted. She deserved more from me. And I'm trying to give her space now. Trying to respect what she needs, whether that ends in divorce or something else. But whatever happens, she matters. She always will."
Jimmy's shoulders stiffened slightly, but he didn't pull away when I slowly reached out and took his free hand.
His palm was warm and small in mine—but notthatsmall anymore. When did it get this big? Where have I been?
Time to break the cycle.
I won't be my father—aloof, cruel, demanding. I won't pretend power equals worth. I won't silence myself in the name of pride or keep failing the people I swore to protect. Because now I see it. I see the devastation I've left behind. The pain carved into the silences between my wife and me. The distance in my son's eyes. The weariness in my daughter's voice when she asks if I'm staying for dinnerthistime.
I see it all.
My ignorance. My absence. My cowardice. But I'm awake now. Finally, and for the first time, I'm not reaching for a fix or a façade. I'm reaching for redemption. Even if I have to earn it one moment, one apology, one step at a time.
"I can't undo the years I lost Jims. I can't erase the nights I wasn't there or the times I brushed you off because I was tired or stressed or selfish. But I can stop the cycle. Iwillstop it. I want to be the father you deserve. The one your sisters deserve. And the man your motheralwaysdeserved."
I paused. Let it sit there between us. Let the wind carry it into the silence.
"Not because I want something back," I added, my voice barely more than a breath. "Not to fix my image. Not to patch the ruins of what I've already broken. But because you deserve that kind of father. Because you always have. From the moment you first opened your eyes and looked at me like I was your whole world... before I ever earned it."
