You won’t remember the nights I slept by the womb of your mother. You won’t remember me whispered, “Son, please make it through with your Mom.”
You won’t remember the way you looked at me for the first time. You won’t remember the tears that flowed from my eyes You won’t remember how I marveled at your birth.
You won’t remember the way you healed my broken spirit, and the way you completed my heart. I was weak before I had you. But you strengthened me and made me brave again.
You won’t remember the way I proudly watched over you. Whether you sleep or awake, I would love to be by your side. Yes, I am always a proud Dad to you.
You won’t remember the way you made me laugh with all the silly things you did. But I saw and witnessed how kind your heart was. Without any word, our souls could touch and say everything to each other.
You won’t remember the tickle fests we had, and how I always cheated so I could hold you close and cover your salty little face in kisses. You won’t remember all the times I went to bed at night and felt such fear being your mother and father at the same time.
You won’t remember the way my heart broke and grew a little bigger each time you passed a milestone, watching the sand fall through the hourglass while feeling overjoyed witnessing you grow.
You won’t remember the way I would hold your little feet in my hands, imagining how much bigger than my own feet they will one day grow, and how I will have to let you go.
You won’t remember all these, but I will – and I’ll hold these memories in my heart for the both of us forever.