A Letter from Zaheer

​

Hold the mirror. Not the ache.

↓

Today is Father’s Day here in Canada.
And like many days that carry emotional weight,
it stirs up more than celebration.
It brings reflection.
Sometimes with a little ache. Always with grace.
Here's what came up for me today.

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But stories taught me what a father's love should look like.
How a father should sound.
What their presence should feel like.
TV shows, books, advice columns, therapists.
Or closer to home: friends, family, teachers and colleagues.

And when my life didn’t match the script,
I called it absence.
I was taught it ached.
I learned to miss something I never truly knew.

But maybe what hurt wasn’t what happened.
Maybe what hurt was the belief...
that something else should have.

⸻

Later, I became a father.
A partner. A leader. A guide.
And I carried that same story forward.

I tried to become what I once felt I lacked.

But strength became distance.
Presence became performance.
Control became pressure.
And slowly, invisibly…

I wasn't parenting.
I was protecting others from an ache
that I never resolved.

⸻

But what if… he never left?

Not the man.
But the stillness beneath him.
The silence that witnessed everything.

What if what we long for
was the unnameable presence
that never moved, never spoke, never blamed —
but always remained?

What if the feeling of an ache is just a pointer?

Not proof of brokenness, no...
But an invitation to remember.

⸻

Because here’s the root paradox:

There is a space before memory, after forgetting...
where silence holds what cannot be lost.

Remember to forget the scripts, the roles.

Forget to remember who you think he should’ve been —
and who you think you need to become.

And rest your attention in what’s always been holding you.
Not a person. Not a parent.
Just presence itself.

⸻

You were never the ache.
You were never the absence.
You are the space it all appeared in.
And disappeared into.

You’re not missing a piece.
You’re the whole.

And the father you thought you lost
was never a man to begin with.

He was the mirror reminding you:
You never needed fixing.
Only remembering.

⸻

Pause and reflect:
​What if the person you longed for
was really the presence you already are?

Forgive the ache. Thank the absence.

Step out of the role.
And rest in the wholeness that was never missing.

With love,

Zaheer

P.S. If you missed my letter from last week, read it here: Nothing needs fixing. Especially not you.​