Fare you well my honey Fare you well my only true one All the birds that were singing Have flown except you alone
Going to leave this broke-down palace On my hands and my knees I will roll, roll, roll Make myself a bed by the waterside In my time, in my time, I will roll, roll, roll
In a bed, in a bed By the waterside I will lay my head Listen to the river sing sweet songs To rock my soul
River gonna take me Sing me sweet and sleepy Sing me sweet and sleepy All the way back back home It’s a far gone lullaby Sung many years ago Mama, mama, many worlds I’ve come Since I first left home
Going home, going home By the waterside I will rest my bones Listen to the river sing sweet songs To rock my soul
Going to plant a weeping willow On the banks green edge it will grow, grow, grow Sing a lullaby beside the water Lovers come and go, the river roll, roll, roll
Fare you well, fare you well I love you more than words can tell Listen to the river sing sweet songs To rock my soul
After your mother and I split up, I used to see you on the weekends — until that ended for reasons you will someday understand. I remember dropping you off at Makuhari Station when the weekend was over and sitting on the platform seat with tears in my eyes waiting for the Sobu Line back home, wondering when, or rather if, I’d be able to see you again.
The very last time I saw you was in that very station in January 2005 when I was allowed to see your briefly to tell you that your grandmother had died. The very last image I have of you is you walking away with your mother and your other grandmother out of the station in this exact place.
I never did see you again after that except for a couple of pictures I received in 2010, some nine years ago now. I stayed far way from your home in Makuhari ever since, for reasons, again, you may come to understand one day. I will only say our separation was not my choice.
I would sometimes pass by Makuhari Station on the Narita Express on the way to the airport. The train travels at a very fast speed past the station, but I nevertheless always strained to look out the window on the remotest of chances that I might catch of glimpse of my only daughter. I never did, of course, but I repeated that ritual every time I passed by even so.
As letters and packages sent to you by your cousins came back “Return to Sender: Address Unknown”, I since learned by checking your old address on Google Street View that the house you used to live in doesn’t exist anymore, and that the area looks completely different. I recalled at that moment that your grandfather had told me that they were eventually going to have to move, that the area was going to be bought out by the government through eminent domain to build a new roadway. I don’t know when that happened, exactly, but it looks to have been done some time ago.
I used to think that at least I knew where you lived, and that I could contact you in case of an emergency or serious situation, as had indeed happened to me recently. But now I’m forced to admit that I know absolutely nothing about you — even your address. Nothing about you, my only child.
So I keep making these blog posts hoping that one day you will find me if you need me, as I no longer can find you through conventional means.
I always wonder what I could have done to change the fate we now share. Was there something I could have said, some action I could have taken to keep you in my life. I know the answer is no, that I did everything I could to fight for you and to continue to be your father. So it’s not a rational thought, but one driven by emotion — emotion that supersedes logic and reason.
Did I leave it too long? Can I ever hope now to undo the damage that has been done? I guess I’ll never know until we are reunited, if that ever comes to pass. In the meantime, like any father, I’l continue to question whether or not I could have prevented this sad sate of affairs from coming to pass. And even though my mind tells me I could not, my heart still suggests otherwise.
I can hardly believe that it was 20 years ago this evening that I was sitting in the waiting room at Keio Hospital awaiting your birth. How is it possible that today, you are no longer a child, but an adult? And me? I’m a 60-year-old man now, planning my retirement.
I wish I could have watched you grow up all these years. I wish I could have taught you how to ride a bicycle, and taken you camping in the mountains, and seen you graduate from junior high school, and comfort you the first time some boy broke your heart. I wish I could have done a lot of things, but that was not to be. The reason why I guess you’ll come to understand in time now that you’ve become an adult.
But for now, my only hope is that you will believe that I would have been a part of your life if I could have, and that I tried with everything I could to be a part of your life. Your father never walked away from you. I am still here, and I’m still waiting for you after all of these years to pick up the phone and call, to send me an email, or to knock on my door.
And for now, I will keep posting notes in this blog, like messages in bottles that I cast out onto the tides in hopes that one day they will reach you, and one day you will know that your father never forgot about you, and that the father you once knew and loved is still the same, and that for him, his love for you has never changed.
Happy 20th Birthday, Sweetheart.
You are always in my heart!
Love always,
Your Dad
P.S. Here’s the only gift I can give you now — a song.
