I'm so sorry, Dad

It’s been almost ten years, and not a single day goes by that I don’t think about it. About you. About what I did. Or, more accurately, what I didn’t do.

You always loved baseball. You coached my little league team, even though you worked crazy hours. I remember those summer evenings, the smell of cut grass, the way you’d patiently explain the rules to the younger kids, over and over. You never got frustrated. You always made it fun.

When I got older, I lost interest. Girls, video games, just…life, I guess. I didn’t want to play anymore. You were disappointed, I could tell, but you never pushed me. You just started going to see the local minor league team, the Mudhens. You loved them. Every summer you bought season tickets. You knew all the players' names, their stats, everything.

Then came the day. The day you called and asked if I wanted to go with you to the Mudhens game. It was a big game, some important playoff thing. You sounded so excited, like a little kid. I could hear the hope in your voice.

I lied. I told you I had plans. That I was going out with friends. Which wasn’t true. I just didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay home and play video games. I was sixteen, and all I cared about was myself. I remember hanging up the phone and immediately feeling a pang of guilt, but I pushed it down. I told myself it was just one game.

That night, Mom called. She was crying. You’d had a heart attack at the game. You were gone. Just like that.

For years, I told myself it wasn’t my fault. That you had a bad heart, that it was just your time. But deep down, I knew the truth. You were alone. You were excited to share something you loved with me, and I blew you off. I chose video games over you.

Maybe if I had been there, things would have been different. Maybe if I had been there, you wouldn’t have been so stressed, so…alone. Maybe. I know it's not rational, but that guilt eats at me.

I haven’t been to a baseball game since. I can’t. It’s too painful. Every time I see someone with their dad, laughing and sharing a hot dog, I just want to disappear. I see you. I see what I lost. What I threw away.

I know you’re gone, Dad. I know I can’t change the past. But I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better son. I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I hope, wherever you are, you can forgive me. I'll never forgive myself.

I miss you more than words can say.