Fathers won't always remember the last time their sons give them their last soft kiss on the cheek followed by a small squeaky voice saying, "i love you daddy"
And that's ok...
I suppose...
Its the kind of thing little boys outgrow so slowly and suddenly that it goes unnoticed until it is completely gone some years ago
It will be replaced by long warm hugs and little arms wrapped around necks and legs and waists and a voice not as tiny or squeaky saying "I love you dad"
And that's ok...
I suppose...
And often with an unknown tragedy these hugs become shorter as arms grow longer
Not always... but sometimes
Some will stay close
Some will drift
And some will drift and then become even closer for their time apart
And that's ok...
I suppose...
The wonders of life are not always kind
But they are not of cruel intentions
It will seem unfair at times
True
But life itself cannot be blamed
It has no guidelines
No safety net
No rule book
It is of whimsy and irony and grace and downfall and magic and fear and beauty
Time will shuffle the deck and fate will cut and deal the cards
And maybe hugs will be replaced by pats on the back or handshakes or shrugs of the shoulders as an older voice that has lost all of its squeak says, "...hey..." as sons and fathers pass in the hall
And that's ok...
I suppose...
Fathers have to let their sons grow
Have to let go of thier hands...
To let them...
discover mistakes and learn failure and invent secrets and build mystery and paint dreams
To live through the wonders of life that will sometimes seem cruel and unfair
And find in their fathers voice that they they only let go of their hands so they could hold more tightly to their hearts which they can never let go