Part II · Descent

Becoming a Father

October 27th, 2020 No one tells you how a newborn feels when the weight of your entire life rests in something that small. They laid him on my chest— skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. And I forgot how to breathe. Not from joy. Not from awe. But fear. Because I knew then— I was someone’s father. And what if I failed him like I failed myself? What if my silence felt like absence? What if my voice, too sharp one night, sounded like rejection? What if one day, he looked at me and saw someone he had to forgive? I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t whole. But he didn’t care. He curled his fingers into my skin like he already knew I belonged to him. And for the first time, I didn’t want to run. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. He slept, you slept, the hospital lights hummed like nothing had changed— but everything had. I whispered a promise I didn’t have the language for: You’ll never have to earn this. You’ll never have to shrink. You’ll never be asked to bleed just to be loved. You were born to be held. And maybe I’ll mess this up. Maybe I’ll fall short. But I will never make you wonder if I chose you. Because I do. I did. Every day. Even when it breaks me. Even when it costs me everything else.