I'm 43, But I Have Less Time to Live...

 

Dear Readers, 

Every time I write an article I start thinking I got less life. Like I said, my time is up. I can feel it in my bones and the relentless ache that has seeped into my body and heart. Every year that passes feels heavier than the last, and with each breath, I wonder if I’ll ever see my kids again. Maybe they’ll hate me for the rest of my life, believing the stories they’ve been told. Perhaps I’ve already been erased from their lives, just another forgotten chapter, another "someone" they don't need.

In my younger years, I held onto a vision of family a life where we'd grow together, where I'd see my children bloom and guide them through life's storms. I wanted to be the father they could count on, to be there for every milestone, every scraped knee, and every broken heart. But life unfolded differently, cruelly, and now the weight of my absence from their lives threatens to crush whatever is left of me.

I still remember those early days with clarity. Back then, I had hope. My dreams were vivid and full of possibility. I wanted to build a life that mattered, leave a legacy, and be someone my children could admire. I wanted them to know that no matter what, they were loved, unconditionally. I could have never guessed that someday I’d be looking in from the outside, wondering if they even remember the sound of my voice or the look in my eyes when I told them I loved them.

Time became my enemy. With each ticking moment, I feel the sting of separation growing deeper. I’m only 43, yet I feel I’ve already lived the longest, hardest lifetime imaginable. Health issues creep in as well, little reminders that the body is no fortress. From the pain in my joints to the memories that scar my mind, each moment is marked by the reality that I have less time than I thought. And for what? To sit in the shadow of memories that once meant everything but now only serve as a reminder of what I’ve lost?

Sometimes, I find myself hoping that one day my children will stumble upon these words, and that they’ll come to know my side of the story. I want them to understand that I never wanted this. I didn’t choose to vanish from their lives. In many ways, life pushed me away and placed barriers I couldn’t break through. But what hurts the most is the silence the emptiness left in the space where they once were.

It’s hard to find a reason to keep going. I face each day with the fear that I’ll leave this world without them knowing the truth, without them realizing that they were always the light in my darkest hours.

Reflection

As I look back on the years that passed, one lesson shines through the haze of heartache and loss: love, true love, does not waver, even in silence or separation. My children may never know the depths of my love for them, but I find peace in the knowledge that this love endures, undiminished. I’ve come to accept that sometimes, we have to let go of what we cannot control, even if it means releasing pieces of ourselves along the way.

I’ve also learned that our worth isn’t measured by how others remember us but by the quiet battles, we fight within ourselves. Despite everything, I found strength in knowing that I loved without condition. I hoped against hope, and I lived with my heart open, even as it broke.

So, if there’s any message I leave behind, it’s this: cherish your time with the people you love. Don’t take for granted the gift of family or the moments you share. Life is fleeting, and too often, we realize the value of love only once it’s lost.

Perhaps my children will read these words someday. Perhaps they’ll come to understand that I didn’t abandon them and that I fought every day for the chance to be in their lives, even if that battle was unseen. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll forgive me.

In the end, life is a journey shaped by both joy and suffering, by holding on and letting go. And as my time draws near, I find comfort in knowing that love, even unreturned, is a legacy in itself.

God Bless You All...

Jacob M