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Fatherlessness: The Childhood Void Where Darkness Grows
I awoke to the sunlight streaming through my window, its warmth on my face pulling me from a restless sleep. My head was still resting on the windowsill, where I had spent the entire night.
The night before, I had opened the window, eager to watch for his car. He said he was coming, and I could hardly contain my excitement.
It had been over a year since I last saw him, and I didn’t realize until that moment how much I had missed him.
At seven, a father is everything- a boy’s connection to his origin and his compass to where he might one day go.
My mother had insisted I go to bed, promising to wake me when he arrived, but the anticipation was too great. I stayed by the window instead, watching, waiting, hoping.
Every pair of headlights that turned into the apartment parking lot made my heart leap with the possibility that it might be him. Each time, I was disappointed.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook me, and I must have fallen asleep.
When the morning light hit my eyes, I sat up abruptly, disoriented but filled with renewed hope. I heard muffled voices in the living room, adult tones laced with something I couldn’t yet interpret.
