Before It is Too Late

Too many wasted years. In trying to avoid my wife and not deal with insurmountable problems, I became an absentee father. Better to stay at work late, even if there wasn’t much work to do; or head to my local pub and drink until the night became a blurry mess. Both roads led away from my kids.

My daughter suffered the most. I remember her early years, but I have this dark hole in my memories of her later adolescent and early teen years. I realize that is because we built very few memories together during that time. And there is no excuse for that.

Time – – as I wrote before – – is in perpetual motion, as is life. There is no turning back. We are always propelled forward, whether we want to or not. I can’t get back those years with my daughter. I can only work to rebuild our relationship, to recapture those first sentiments when she would literally dangle from my neck, squeeze me until my face turned blue. I know she is too old for that, now. But there is still so much for her and I to share.

I know she is trying to be a better kid. I know she is also open to us getting close again. I love her so much.

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