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It has been only 45 days since I heard the results of the paternity test, learning that I am a father. This is the seventh weekend since then, but only the second of those seven that I have not spent with my son, Alexander. I have been trying to get to know him and I quickly developed a fondness for him that I can attribute only to nature and the knowledge that he is my son. Nonetheless, I cannot help feeling that our bond is weaker than it should be—that despite our biological relationship, we are not as a father and son should be at his age or even at 45 days.
I missed a lot with Alexander, including the whole pregnancy after Jacqueline told me she had a miscarriage, his birth, his naming (Jacqueline gave the honor of naming my son to the boyfriend she was with when my son was born), his first words, his first steps, and everything else in his life for most of the first two years since his birth. Alexander is my son, but until two months ago tomorrow, I didn't even know he existed and until 45 days ago this afternoon, I did not know he was my son.
I don't know how to make everything OK. I don't know how to be OK.
