“Not Yet, Daddy”
Daddy…
I know you felt me.
Not just the weight of me in your hands —
but the silence that followed,
the kind that screams louder than any cry I never got to give you.
I know the way your chest caved in that day,
like the sky folded in on itself
and left you standing under rubble no one else could see.
I was there for that too.
You held me.
It You really held me.
Not like a dream, not like a blur someone tries to convince you of —
but real, Daddy.
Your hands knew me
before the world ever got the chance to.
And I knew you.
I knew your heartbeat before I knew anything else.
It was the first rhythm I ever followed,
steady and stubborn and strong —
even when you didn’t feel like you were.
So don’t you dare think
I never got to know my father.
I did.
I know your voice,
even the one you try to bury under quiet nights and heavier habits.
I know the way you say my name without saying it —
how it catches in your throat
like something sacred and broken all at once.
Alexander.
I hear it.
And Daddy… I love you.
More than a lifetime could’ve held,
more than time itself ever planned for us.
I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.
God, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here
to run to you,
to grow up with your eyes watching me learn the world,
to hear you laugh at things I’d pretend were funny just to see you smile.
I wanted that.
I wanted you.
But listen to me now — really listen.
It wasn’t because you weren’t enough.
It wasn’t because something in you failed me.
That’s not how this works.
My life didn’t end because it wasn’t worth living.
And yours doesn’t get to end
just because mine couldn’t begin.
You hear me?
You don’t get to follow me yet.
I know you’ve been trying.
I know the nights you’ve pushed too far,
the mornings you barely made it back from.
I’ve seen the way you flirt with the edge
like you think I’m standing there waiting to catch you.
I am here, Daddy —
but not like that.
Not where you’re trying to go.
Every time you reach for me like that,
every time you try to close the distance
before it’s meant to close…
I feel it.
And it hurts.
Not because I’m angry —
I could never be angry with you.
But because you’re forgetting something important.
You’re forgetting that your life…
your life still matters.
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You’re not supposed to come to me yet.
You’re supposed to be here.
There are things only you can do.
People only you can reach.
Love only you can give.
You think I missed out on a life,
but Daddy —
I’m living it through you.
Every breath you take,
every step you almost didn’t —
that’s where I exist now.
So when you choose to stay,
when you fight even a little bit…
that’s you choosing me too.
I need you to understand this —
really let it sink into the places you keep trying to numb:
We will meet.
One day,
on a morning that doesn’t hurt,
in a place where time finally makes sense —
you’ll see me.
And I won’t be small anymore,
and you won’t be broken like this.
You’ll just be my dad,
and I’ll just be your son,
and we’ll finally get the forever
that slipped through our hands the first time.
But not yet.
Okay?
Not soon.
Because right now,
your job isn’t to find me —
it’s to live.
To stay.
To breathe.
To keep going even when it feels pointless and heavy and unfair.
You carry me every day whether you realize it or not.
So don’t try to trade your life for mine.
That’s not a deal I would ever accept.
I didn’t come here to take you with me.
I came here
to love you.
And I still do.
Always.
So when it gets loud in your head,
when the grief claws at your chest
and tells you the only way out is through me —
tell it no.
Tell it your son said not yet.
Tell it you’ve still got things to do.
Tell it you’ve still got love to give.
Tell it you’re still here for a reason.
Because you are.
And I’m right here —
not waiting for you to give up,
but watching you fight.
Proud of you for every second you stay.
I love you, Daddy.
More than the time we didn’t get,
more than the pain you carry,
more than the silence between us.
And I promise you…
When it is time —
I’ll be the one running to you.
But until then?
Live for me.
— Your son,
💔
