I wish I'd been a better dad

It's late, and I can't sleep. All I can think about is my son, Mark. He's… he's not doing so well. I don't want to get into specifics, but he's struggling, and I feel like it's my fault.

I wasn't around much when he was growing up. I worked all the time. Double shifts, weekends… always chasing that next promotion, that bigger paycheck. I told myself it was for him, for the family. So he could have a good life, go to a good school. But what good is all that if I wasn't actually there? If I didn't know what was going on in his head, in his heart?

His mom – my ex-wife, Sarah – she did her best. She really did. But it wasn't enough. Kids need both parents, even if those parents aren't together anymore. I was so wrapped up in my own ambition, I didn't see that. I missed his baseball games, his school plays, parent-teacher conferences… I always had an excuse. A meeting, a deadline, something ‘urgent’ at work. Looking back, none of it was that important.

Now he's older, and we barely talk. He’s polite, but distant. There's this wall between us that I don't know how to break down. I've tried. I've apologized. I’ve told him I regret not being there more. He just nods and says it’s okay, but I can see it in his eyes. It’s not okay. It will never be okay.

I see other dads with their kids – laughing, playing, just being present – and it tears me up inside. I missed out on all of that. I screwed up. I can't go back and change things, and that’s what hurts the most. I just wish I could have been a better dad. A dad who listened, who cared, who was actually *there* when he needed me. Now, I just feel guilt. A heavy, crushing guilt that I carry with me every single day. I hope, someday, he can forgive me. I don't even know if I deserve it, but I hope he can.