You probably don't remember me, but I'm your father.  Right now you're too young to understand this, but I want to put into writing those things that I have avoided.  When your mother and I conceived you we were very much in love.  A month later when your mother called me to tell me, I already knew.  My surprise and confusion quickly became excitement and hope.  When you took your first breath on your own, I was with you.  That was four years ago.

For the two years after that day, you were my angel.  No one, not even your mother or grandparents or aunts and uncles knew how I felt about you during that time.  That is my fault.  I cherished our time alone and took only those opportunities to show my deepest feelings toward you.  Never let anyone tell you that I didn't love you.

Now, your mother and I don't talk.  And now, you and I don't talk.  Where do I start?  The last time I saw you, your vocabulary consisted of "yes", "no" and "candy"...  If I don't talk to you now it is because I'm not sure you'll remember me.  Even if you do, you have a new dad now.  I want you to be happy, not torn between two families.

Someday, when you look for me, I'll be waiting.  For as long as you're not with me, I'll be thinking about you.  I miss you.

Love,

Brian