Take My Hand Not My Life

Things that I never told you are immense, heavy and deep. The secrets that I keep are a thousand times greater than the ones we share when we eat. I think this at times as I sit across from my friends at our favorite restaurants. I wonder how many hold secrets they never speak about? Maybe it is time that we all just stop trying to be so strong, and admit that we hurt too. Men hurt too.

In one extreme anytime that life comes it is a miracle. Hundreds of organic molecules combine to create another human being inside of a human being. A miracle in the making. Life arises out of a need for a species to survive. Scientist's experience trouble explaining the conception of the beginning of life. The first life form that we recognize as viable is still debated around the globe. Yet, the technicalities of the origins of life aren't what keeps many awake at night contemplating a life that was denied.

He would have been fourteen years old this year in June. When I go to the mall and watch the younger kids with their friends I am certain that I can sometimes see our ghost child among them. She is no longer my friend by her choice. Her choices always seemed to outweigh anyone else's needs, cares or concerns. We started out like most couples do, having met at a dinner party that had been put together by friends. Friends... a term that is thrown around like water flowing from a waterfall coming down a mountain. That's how my tears flow late at night when I am alone. I yearn for my son. A man isn't supposed to cry. We aren't supposed to show these emotions of weakness. But I feel broken inside and robbed of my chance to love as a father. Her choice, her body she had said. My child, our child, in your body I had said. I begged her not to take his life. I told her that I would raise him without her, and ask nothing from her. But she refused still saying that she couldn't bear him finding her later in life and asking why she didn't want him. I thought, now you think that far ahead?

I imagine how my life would have been being a father. If my son would have my black wavy hair or her straight brown hair? Would he like my music, or would he introduce me to his favorite soundtracks. What sports would he want to play? What would he be today? Would I be sitting in the stands watching him play basketball for his school or on the football field? Or would he not like either and choose to be in dance? Maybe he would have loved theater? I wonder so many things for him.

I see and hear parents talking about their children and am amazed at how for granted they take their roles in the lives of their kids. I even have friends who actually think that they own their children and force their kids into programs the kids hate. I never say anything because that's their kid. I have stepped up at times when it was evident that the kid was extremely unhappy, and pointed out that the ultimate choice should be the child's choice. No one would do well at a sport they hated.

I know the loss of my son without ever having seen my child. This gut-wrenching emptiness that stays in my stomach. This dull and aching pain that now lives in my chest. We were both so young. I am at as much fault as she is for our baby not being here. I should have taken better precautions. I should have just waited longer to have sex. I didn't see the whole picture back then, of things that could happen, of what could have been.

The loss of my child has stayed with me all these years.

Every holiday I see children, and what they point at in the stores as they shop with their parents, and I walk alone. Seeing the headphones on teenagers in music stores always make me smile. Once even, I saw a dark wavy haired young man listening to a Bob Segar selection. Man, I about lost it right there. He looked at me with green eye's and smiled a little. I nodded and kept walking. He could have been "my boy." I know this way of thinking isn't good for me. I just can't get over him not being here with me.

He was life forming, growing. Inside her. My genetics. My son. There was no legal recourse for me. The laws are clear. Her body, her choice.

Since 1973, there have been 56.5 million abortions up to 2013. I packed it in looking after that. My God Man, that's one abortion every 30 seconds! How many fathers were denied their child because the woman chose to end the life inside of her? I realize I do, that there are special circumstances where abortion could be the option to end a life. Such as in genetic abnormalities. What a decision to make. I have empathy for any person who must make this decision. Even then would be so difficult for me to do it. But next to that I think that it is not the child's fault how it was conceived and has a right to live.

There are literally as many fathers who want the child as there are women out there taking that right away. Where are our rights to be a dad?! I get so angry at times. But I am not a violent man. Self-loathing more than anything else, because I failed you. And I failed your mother. I couldn't convince her not to kill my child. I couldn't convince her that I would be more than what I was then.

I would have supported you in everything that you chose to do or be. I would have taken delight when you said your first word. I would have held your hands while you were learning to take your first steps. I would have been patient with you while we were going through potty training. Celebrated every successful attempt, and every failed attempt. Taking you to the zoo for the first time would have been amazing. I think that you would have loved the lions. I'm not sure that I could have sent you to daycare, but instead would have recruited your grandmother to watch you while I worked. At least until you would have attended pre-school. She will never know that you almost were here with us. I couldn't bear the weight of her pain and my own. Your grandfather knows, he probably told her, I hope that he didn't. Kindergarten would have been magical for you, I would have made a big deal about every little accomplishment. You would have surpassed Picasso with your art. I would have framed it and hung it on our walls. In our home you would have been the star of the show, but anyway. Every grade would have been an adventure. Every sports tryout would have been a success whether you made the team or not. We would have celebrated the attempts. Your fourteen this year in my heart. And for your birthday I will release a dozen balloons into the sky with a note inside each that says," I love you still." That may not be good for the environment but is good for my soul. I think that you know how much I hurt every day without you in my life. Because when I think the knowledge of your death will be the end of me, I see another young man who looks like he could have been you. Listening to music or riding a bike or on a skateboard. He will look at me and smile...

Things that I never told you are immense, heavy, and deep. I would have kept you and treasured our relationship. Your death is the reason tears fall in my sleep. And if I ever choose to be romantically involved with a woman again I will make sure that we both hold the belief that the miracle of life is to be celebrated. Your brother or sister when they are old enough to understand will know that you existed. My hope is that one day a father's rights are recognized to be as important as the mothers... even before birth.

Micheal Andrew Jordan, you never got to hear me say, " I love you."

I love you still. Happy Birthday in Heaven.