I Had To Let Go

The first time I let go, it felt like skydiving without a parachute; I thought I would spiral downward through the air and crash into the ground. I didn’t know what was waiting for me on the other side of that release, which is probably why I held on so long.

Being a teenager didn’t help. When I became a father at 18, my mind had already been trained to believe that my value was tied to what I could provide.

So my job working night shift at a grocery store wouldn’t cut it. Packing away bread and tins of tuna couldn’t buy my daughter Jordans.

Working at a retail store wouldn’t cut it. Helping people find shoes and socks that kept them warm for winter wouldn’t buy my daughter gold bracelets.

Neither would working for a car rental company.

Or delivering food to patients at the hospital.

Or selling lottery tickets at a bingo hall.

And becoming a writer? Forget about that. I could dream all I wanted to, but those dreams weren’t putting food in my daughter’s stomach.

So I held on. I held on tight because I wanted to live the idea of a good father. Of a good provider. I held on until my fingers ached and my grip started to weaken.

What about these snow angels my daughter and I made? What about the first time we took the…