Melancholy for Anya

A minimal background here….the young girl in the photograph is my daughter. Because of both my actions leading up to the divorce and subsequent relapses, along with a “less then friendly” civility between the mother and myself – I have only seen her once in the last year and change. She’s about a year and a half to put it in perspective. 

Some sing songs of longing,

Blazing with desire to find or be found.

A lonesome call to remove the isolation,

From the desperate state of silent night.

For others,

Absent are the sounds once felt.

Or missed because of poor choices.

To have loved and lost is a blessing,

To lose a love over choices given away,

Hurts the way that pain self-inflicted does.

Unswayed by pleas for mercy,

Nowhere to misdirect the blame.

I want to know my daughter,

But all I feel is shame.

Not at the beauty she is sure to be.

Surely not at the creative gleam in her eye.

Not her brilliant hand that will craft a world,

Or her soft skin that will feel the kiss of life daily.

The shame is a shattering indulgence.

A reminder striking loudly of what could have been,

Of where I should have been.

Wanted to be, and missed the closest moments with her –

And those can never be reclaimed.

Because she doesn’t know who daddy is –

And maybe doesn’t even know that I’m not there.

I’m sorry Anya.

I love you even if we aren’t together yet.

 

Small note – even though I only have a short call with her and my son weekly, she spit out a “dada” for me. 🙂