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And that purpose never fades.
This piece resonates because I grew up never knowing my father—no name, no face—nothing. But as a dad myself of three—one girl and two boys—I get to experience the moment from their eyes—their perspective of having me—their dad, around. Does that make sense? 🤔
It does make sense. I did have my dad for a time, but when he divorced my mom, he divorced his children too. I have 3 versions of my father. I try to dwell on my favorite version; the one where he loved his family, especially his children; the one with incredible memories…
It does. And I respect the way you’ve named that truth without bitterness. Carrying more than one version of a parent is heavy, but choosing to anchor yourself to the version rooted in love shows discernment and grace. Those memories aren’t illusions—they’re evidence of what was possible and what mattered. Thank you for sharing that so honestly.
Thank you for receiving it that way. Your words feel steady and kind, and I don’t take that lightly. Naming complexity without turning it into blame has been part of how I’ve learned to keep my footing.
Holding multiple truths about someone you love can be exhausting, but I’ve found that honoring the version shaped by care doesn’t erase the rest—it just keeps the story humane. Those memories remind me that love was real, not imagined, and that it still gets to inform who I am.
I appreciate the care you brought to this exchange. It made the honesty feel safe.
Thank you for trusting me with that layer. I relate in a very real way. I was separated from my own children for sixteen years—because of divorce and circumstances that took time to untangle. When we were pulled apart, they were seven, six, and three. Now they’re adults, and we’re finding our way back to each other.
The reunion is meaningful, but it’s also awkward in ways people don’t always talk about. There’s love, but there’s also distance shaped by time, missed seasons, and versions of each other we never got to meet. I’m learning how to show up as their father in the present, not trying to reclaim the past, but honoring it honestly.
Becoming a grandfather through my second-born—my oldest son—has added another unexpected dimension. Holding new life after so much absence is humbling. It doesn’t erase what was lost, but it affirms that connection can still grow, even after long interruptions.
I share this because your words about holding multiple truths resonated deeply. I’m living that tension now—grief and gratitude side by side—and choosing, as you said, to keep the story humane. I appreciate the space you created here. It made room for something real.
Thank you for sharing this so openly. What you described – the love mixed with distance, the careful learning of who your children are now – feels deeply honest. That kind of reunion asks for patience and heart, and it sounds like you’re meeting it with both. I’m especially moved by how you hold grief and gratitude together without trying to make either disappear. Becoming a grandfather in that context really does feel like life offering a quiet, intricate grace. I respect the way you’re choosing presence over revision, truth over comfort. Keep writing my friend
P.S. My writing and poetry collections are shaped by layered truths and lived pain from my past. I’ll share some of that work when the time is right.
Here are my two pieces I wrote awhile back. I just republished them. They actually won first place in a poetry competition. https://kvinc.org/ink-between-us/?utm_source=Kvinc.org&utm_medium=iframely
“She Writes like I Bleed” is devastating and beautiful. It feels both tender and fierce. it honors love that refused to disappear.
“The Caged One Writes Flame”
This hits like a testimony. The way you turn confinement into creation, chains into language, and erasure into flame memorizes. I’m struck by how the poem refuses bitterness even while enduring heart ache. That closing line feels inevitable and unforgettable: the flame doesn’t just burn—it remembers. Thank you for sharing a piece that stands as both witness and warning.
You are very welcome 🤗.
Greetings friend. Can you help me with this conundrum and help me get some more feedback on this subject matter when you have time?
https://kvinc.org/what-a-father-sees-when-time-has-passed/
THANK YOU!
Happy Holidays and New Year 2026
I can’t open the site.
https://kvinc.org/what-a-father-sees-when-time-has-passed/