Your father is meant to be your hero, your mentor, your protector, the fella you look up to for advice, wisdom, leadership, discipline, friendship.
In those few years I knew you, I was (and gave) none of these and that will shame me until the day I die.
You were born in the early hours of Sept 9th, 1997. Typically of me at the time, I missed it, cos I was working, with some misguided notion that that was more important, as it contributed to a future that, through bitter irony, never even arrived.
I missed your first words, I missed your first steps, I missed your first everything. I even missed the day I lost you.
Had I known at the time, on that day we played in the park, that it would be the last, I would have held on to you forever, however futile and naive such a gesture would have been.
I did arrive the day after you were born and the photo of me holding on to you then is the most treasured picture I have. But it's always been too late for such sentiment. All I have left are memories, some pictures and a fuckton of guilt and shame.
I should have been there for you. I should have fought harder for you. I should have been a bigger man. I should have been a LOT better, kinder, understanding to your mum.
I should have been a FATHER!
Today I should have been there with you, maybe buying your first legal drink and embarrassing you in our local with sentimental guff, maybe putting a pic of you by the roadside, all gummy with milk around yer gob, a couple of months old, you know the type, with HAPPY 18TH JAKEY! on it, as close to the school as possible to maximise embarrassment to yer mates - maybe yer girlfriend (or boyfriend, it really wouldn't have mattered to me) would gently tease you about it and you'd give me some banter in the pub........
.........but that's not possible is it? Would it ever have been? Who knows? Could I have changed history? Could "things have been different/better"? I don't know.
But I never even tried - I thought I was doing the "right thing" by you - I thought I was being "clever" - and I don't know how to say sorry for that, for everything, for all my failings. I can only put it out there and hope against hope you receive the message somehow through some cosmic miracle or intervention.
I never had another child. I couldn't. Not after this. You were the first and last, Jake.
Happy 18th my little man.