The Budget of Paradox

Sophia,
As I write this, it’s January 23, 2024. The last time I saw you was exactly nine years ago today. I remember it very well. After the final hearing of my divorce from your mother, I took you and Morey out to dinner. We went to a restaurant at the corner of Rivermont Avenue and Norfolk, across the street from a post office. The restaurant that’s there now is called Oliver’s. I’m not sure that’s what it was called in 2015. But that’s where we had dinner.

Nine years. Wow. It’s hard to believe it sometimes.

Morey, you and me in Lynchburg in 2014

I know I’ve said this often before, but this is not the life I planned for us. This is not the way things should be. A man has the God-given, natural, federal and Constitutional right to enjoy the company of his children, and help colonize their imaginations. If you ask what went wrong, I’m not sure I have a good answer. All I know is that strangers with law degrees prefer to keep us apart for reasons I can’t imagine. I think removing the father has been a destabilizing force in your family, for you and Morey both.

I often think back to that night in 2015. It was snowing all day. There was even a chance the hearing would be cancelled at the courthouse. Schools were nearly closed that day. I was worried about you getting home safely.

I love you, kid. And I miss you. I hope I can see you before I die. At this point, that’s all I can look forward to.

Dad