You said it all Jon. You are a beautiful person with a gift and a heart for words. Your words. Thank you for sharing your heart, and your hope. You said it all when you said, “….when I become a father….” maybe you don’t have to wait to become a father figure in a young boy’s life who doesn’t have one right now for whatever reason? Look around, maybe ask around, maybe get free training first from a Big Brother organization or other mens group before starting? Not that you need any training or experience of fatherless heart matters, but for the preparation needed perhaps to give your best in a safe way for both people. Just a thought. You have so much love inside you to give. Any boy would be blessed to have you in their life, like winning the lottery perhaps to them.
The littlest things you can do for a young, fatherless boy can have a life changing impact. Maybe working in an afterschool program offering a writing or journaling class for at-risk boys in your city? Healing others can help heal ourselves.
Sending you a hug, and a $coffee, through my words of appreciation and encouragement, the same as you give your readers that those suffering from any family loss, are not alone in their grief. Thank you.
Thank you so much for your generous comment and support. It really means a lot. And I think you're right; there's no reason I should wait. That's a great reminder and something I needed to hear.
Thanks again for reading, and thank you for the words of wisdom!
This was beautiful man, thank you for sharing - it strikes a chord more than I can articulate in a short comment, and I imagine it is the same for many others!
I feel this deeply, i grew up with a father who whenever he was happy would give me and my mother a few hours of peace (yet the alarm in my head could never stop) at the minute something made him feel annoyed or angry, for example a neighbour's words, he would take that anger against me or her. I felt like I've walking above landmines all my life, his words ringing in my head relentlessly
Now dealing with cptsd and taking care of my mother, i feel like i became at some point her mother when i was still very young.
I’m a mother who raised a son on my own. And no matter how much love I poured into him—and I did—it never took away the ache of what he didn’t have: a present father. That truth has always stung the most. Because I would’ve given anything to protect him from that pain, but I couldn’t fill that space. And I wasn’t supposed to.
I’m raising my sister’s kids—two grown, one still a teenager. I loved them like they were my own. I didn’t give birth to them, but they were born for me. I’ve carried the weight of motherhood in so many forms that sometimes I forget how heavy it’s been.
I’m married now, and our youngest gets to experience a two-parent household—at least to some degree. But even in that, the pain doesn’t just disappear. It lingers because I know what’s missing still matters.
Your words reminded me of the quiet ache many of us carry. I’ve lived it. I watched it. And I’ve tried to love through it. But love, even when powerful, doesn’t always erase what’s been lost.
Thank you for writing this for putting language to a pain often felt in silence. You reminded me that even in the ache, we can still choose to be present, healing, and more than what we were given.
I’m choosing that every day—for my son, my niece and nephews, and the little girl in me who wished things had been different.
Thank you for 1) taking the time to read my essay and 2) for sharing a piece of your story here.
It means a lot. And you can rest assured that while you're right that there’s a space a father should fill, the love you’ve shown your kids and your sister’s kids is something I’m sure they wouldn’t trade for the world. Keep shining your light.
What a beautiful post, thank you for sharing your experience so vulnerably. I'm sure it will resonate with so many people. And, to give you some hope: me and my sibling had a somewhat absent father, but my big brother became the poster "Disney dad" and my nephews are the happiest little boys I've ever met. So I have no doubt, you too, can become one day an present and loving father to your own children. Well done for doing the work and going deep within yourself. Sending you love!
Thanks for reading and sharing this, Leila. It means a lot. Hearing about people who grew up like me and became excellent fathers fills me with so much joy. Shoutout to your big brother!
Quite a nuanced and thoughtful piece. Thank you. I find myself, however, reacting to the phrase of what a father is “meant to be”. For what it’s worth, I don’t think there’s a universal, unquestionable truth about what fathers should be — no presumptive authority. Of course, your essay clearly shows that we ought not hold up our childhoods to a normative ideal, and that life is complex and varied, so pardon my picking at one little part.
Thank you for reading so thoughtfully and for sharing this. You’re right — there’s no single truth about what a father should be, and I’m still untangling some of those ideas myself.
I think, for me, all of that has come more from a place of longing than certainty. Not as much for a perfect role, but for a kind of presence I missed. No need to apologize, though. It's a very valid and important question to ask. Thank you for asking it.
Your post today touches on your writing from the other day when you discussed releasing versions of ourselves that didn’t come to be. You’re mining a vein of gold (as Julia Cameron would say).
“Disenfranchised grief” is grief that is not recognized and carried by some of us and perhaps acknowledged by no one in our midst. Substack readers and writers of disenfranchised grief can get some acknowledgement here from others who have had this type of grief. You are not alone in this type of grief, although it feels like it in our small worlds, and may readers hear you on this.
Sometimes that is enough, to have disenfranchised grief shared and heard. Invisible grief can be a double grief in life, as it is not acknowledged by society at large. I hear you Jon. My heart aches for you as disenfranchised grief is alive and well in myself.
Thank you for sharing. Have a blessed day. May your disenfranchised grief of not having a father in your life be used to better the world, like your beautiful, heartfelt writing here on substack, and/or in some small corner of another little boys life.
Don’t accept fully that a boy needs a father. That is a tidy read for sure
; and no one regrets having a truly good father. My father was more formative for me than my mother for reasons that speak well for both of them. Let’s not overvalue gendered experiences…that is all part of the patriarchal assumptions so many of us grew up with. We need love, guidance, and the frisson of challenge to be the best people we can be. If that comes from our mother or father does not matter. If we are lucky to have two parents to “ choose from” more the better.
I appreciate this article. I have two boys and their father just ended his life. I can read all the books, and do all the things- but I can’t ever replace him.
I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine the weight of what you’re carrying. Your boys are lucky to have your love, even in the midst of something so heartbreaking.
Thank you for sharing this here. Wishing your family all the best going forward.
You said it all Jon. You are a beautiful person with a gift and a heart for words. Your words. Thank you for sharing your heart, and your hope. You said it all when you said, “….when I become a father….” maybe you don’t have to wait to become a father figure in a young boy’s life who doesn’t have one right now for whatever reason? Look around, maybe ask around, maybe get free training first from a Big Brother organization or other mens group before starting? Not that you need any training or experience of fatherless heart matters, but for the preparation needed perhaps to give your best in a safe way for both people. Just a thought. You have so much love inside you to give. Any boy would be blessed to have you in their life, like winning the lottery perhaps to them.
The littlest things you can do for a young, fatherless boy can have a life changing impact. Maybe working in an afterschool program offering a writing or journaling class for at-risk boys in your city? Healing others can help heal ourselves.
Sending you a hug, and a $coffee, through my words of appreciation and encouragement, the same as you give your readers that those suffering from any family loss, are not alone in their grief. Thank you.
Thank you so much for your generous comment and support. It really means a lot. And I think you're right; there's no reason I should wait. That's a great reminder and something I needed to hear.
Thanks again for reading, and thank you for the words of wisdom!
Thank you.
Lost Boys
No longer sharing a field at harvest,
men’s bodies glistening with sweat
and a common silence.
Seeing his father’s blood from a sharpened scythe.
Knowing what it means to bleed.
Now… starched shirts out the door… crisp and conforming.
Never knowing that the fourth beer is the bandage for his wounds,
when whiteness and submission return from a field…
he has never smelled nor seen.
And the boy out into another dark night
wearing a t-shirt with bold words, “No Fear”,
Wounded but without a story or a scar to share.
Michael Tscheu
In memory of Robert Bly
This was beautiful man, thank you for sharing - it strikes a chord more than I can articulate in a short comment, and I imagine it is the same for many others!
Happy to hear it connected with you, Luke. Thanks a ton for reading. And I wish you all the best, especially if this is a topic you are familiar with.
I feel this deeply, i grew up with a father who whenever he was happy would give me and my mother a few hours of peace (yet the alarm in my head could never stop) at the minute something made him feel annoyed or angry, for example a neighbour's words, he would take that anger against me or her. I felt like I've walking above landmines all my life, his words ringing in my head relentlessly
Now dealing with cptsd and taking care of my mother, i feel like i became at some point her mother when i was still very young.
I'm sorry to hear that, but I appreciate you sharing your experiences here, and I wish you and your mother all the best.
This moved me to tears.
I’m a mother who raised a son on my own. And no matter how much love I poured into him—and I did—it never took away the ache of what he didn’t have: a present father. That truth has always stung the most. Because I would’ve given anything to protect him from that pain, but I couldn’t fill that space. And I wasn’t supposed to.
I’m raising my sister’s kids—two grown, one still a teenager. I loved them like they were my own. I didn’t give birth to them, but they were born for me. I’ve carried the weight of motherhood in so many forms that sometimes I forget how heavy it’s been.
I’m married now, and our youngest gets to experience a two-parent household—at least to some degree. But even in that, the pain doesn’t just disappear. It lingers because I know what’s missing still matters.
Your words reminded me of the quiet ache many of us carry. I’ve lived it. I watched it. And I’ve tried to love through it. But love, even when powerful, doesn’t always erase what’s been lost.
Thank you for writing this for putting language to a pain often felt in silence. You reminded me that even in the ache, we can still choose to be present, healing, and more than what we were given.
I’m choosing that every day—for my son, my niece and nephews, and the little girl in me who wished things had been different.
Thank you for 1) taking the time to read my essay and 2) for sharing a piece of your story here.
It means a lot. And you can rest assured that while you're right that there’s a space a father should fill, the love you’ve shown your kids and your sister’s kids is something I’m sure they wouldn’t trade for the world. Keep shining your light.
What a beautiful post, thank you for sharing your experience so vulnerably. I'm sure it will resonate with so many people. And, to give you some hope: me and my sibling had a somewhat absent father, but my big brother became the poster "Disney dad" and my nephews are the happiest little boys I've ever met. So I have no doubt, you too, can become one day an present and loving father to your own children. Well done for doing the work and going deep within yourself. Sending you love!
Thanks for reading and sharing this, Leila. It means a lot. Hearing about people who grew up like me and became excellent fathers fills me with so much joy. Shoutout to your big brother!
Quite a nuanced and thoughtful piece. Thank you. I find myself, however, reacting to the phrase of what a father is “meant to be”. For what it’s worth, I don’t think there’s a universal, unquestionable truth about what fathers should be — no presumptive authority. Of course, your essay clearly shows that we ought not hold up our childhoods to a normative ideal, and that life is complex and varied, so pardon my picking at one little part.
Thank you for reading so thoughtfully and for sharing this. You’re right — there’s no single truth about what a father should be, and I’m still untangling some of those ideas myself.
I think, for me, all of that has come more from a place of longing than certainty. Not as much for a perfect role, but for a kind of presence I missed. No need to apologize, though. It's a very valid and important question to ask. Thank you for asking it.
Your post today touches on your writing from the other day when you discussed releasing versions of ourselves that didn’t come to be. You’re mining a vein of gold (as Julia Cameron would say).
That's an excellent way to put it. I guess that's what I'm trying to do with my writing.
“Disenfranchised grief” is grief that is not recognized and carried by some of us and perhaps acknowledged by no one in our midst. Substack readers and writers of disenfranchised grief can get some acknowledgement here from others who have had this type of grief. You are not alone in this type of grief, although it feels like it in our small worlds, and may readers hear you on this.
Sometimes that is enough, to have disenfranchised grief shared and heard. Invisible grief can be a double grief in life, as it is not acknowledged by society at large. I hear you Jon. My heart aches for you as disenfranchised grief is alive and well in myself.
Thank you for sharing. Have a blessed day. May your disenfranchised grief of not having a father in your life be used to better the world, like your beautiful, heartfelt writing here on substack, and/or in some small corner of another little boys life.
Well done.
Don’t accept fully that a boy needs a father. That is a tidy read for sure
; and no one regrets having a truly good father. My father was more formative for me than my mother for reasons that speak well for both of them. Let’s not overvalue gendered experiences…that is all part of the patriarchal assumptions so many of us grew up with. We need love, guidance, and the frisson of challenge to be the best people we can be. If that comes from our mother or father does not matter. If we are lucky to have two parents to “ choose from” more the better.
I appreciate this article. I have two boys and their father just ended his life. I can read all the books, and do all the things- but I can’t ever replace him.
I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine the weight of what you’re carrying. Your boys are lucky to have your love, even in the midst of something so heartbreaking.
Thank you for sharing this here. Wishing your family all the best going forward.