Fathers
On Father’s Day, someone I care about wrote “I wish my son was in contact with me. I miss and love him so much. I just wish he would forgive me. This is always a bad day for me!”
To his son, I write:
We all die, and when those we are unsettled with die, it will be excruciatingly final, and for everything we wished we had done, resolved, come to terms with, forgiven… it is undeniably too late, and with us we will carry all the undone, and it will weld it’s weight upon us, becoming our burden, wearing sores into our souls, for the rest of our lives.