June 4th - The Day I Stopped Waiting on my Father to Love Me.
Home. The farm. Familiar sights. A drive into town for a round of putt putt golf.
I think I just said goodbye. In the most non-traditional, messed up way another human can mourn life form.
Your second wife sent me a Facebook message saying she needed to talk. I got it. I knew then. Something in me told me it would be bad, but why would she know? You left them too.
April 30th, 2024 you died. No one knows how. Nothing released, nothing to find. No obituary. Just gone. How unfortunate.
Susan, your second wife, received a letter from the Child Support Services Office. All that back child support you owed for her 2 kids was somehow recuperated from the “estate”, according to the official documents.
I’ve wondered a thousand times, why was I not compelling enough for you to be interested in my life? I used to think I could do more. After doing it all, I realized it’s useless. You are not attracted to accolades or accomplishments. In fact, I’ve never known a single thing that makes you smile. That burns. Meanwhile, I am just over here doing more to be seen. Now, I’m free.
I Tried
I needed you. More than I had ever needed you before. 43 and dying inside. Here I was continuing the generational curse of divorce. I couldn’t right the ship. I only perpetuated the turbulent waves of life that have profound impacts beyond our line of sight.
When I begged to be loved and hoped for an apology to admit you had missed out on a father-daughter relationship you reminded me for all these years, I too was in possession of a phone, and your phone number. You broke me.
In an instant I believed I was done. I had finally given up hope. Never were we going to see eye to eye or have a grown-up, adult conversation. I, in fact, did not have a father in any sense of the term. I thought I let it all go in 2022. But right now, I feel the deepest sting of abandonment.
You’re Gone
At first I was sad. Sad at how much life you have missed out on because you were too prideful to admit failure. Kids, grandkids, hugs, embraces, laughter, smiles. I often ask myself if your days were happy. Now being the mom to two beautiful humans, I cannot fathom not speaking to them, not being a part of their world. You never cared about your kids. What a shame. Five beautiful souls you helped create. Five offspring, 50% of your DNA. Five babies that resemble you, certain to have your same mannerisms and traits. Never once were you curious? I don’t get it.
Today I felt the freedom to finally let you go. I thought I had. I had convinced myself I did. I had not. I now know I was always hopeful you’d reappear and surprise me with the love I know father’s are capable of giving.
Healing
I hurt for you. In no circumstance do I feel I should be comforted. I used to joke you were like a Great Uncle no one ever sees, but you still know they exist. What was I really expecting?
I sobbed that you exited this life. How I do not know, but something tells me you were alone. The people that mattered the most and gave you life, nowhere to be found. Was it scary? What the hell? How are we here? I knew one day you would die, but I thought I mattered enough to be informed. Were you sick? Was it an accident? What happened?
Sobering Reflection
I sit in a state of numbness. I am sad, but it seems contrived. I am relieved, but it seems selfish. I am curious, I suppose it’s only natural. What do I really want to know? You left me 45 years ago. Why am I sad now? It’s official. I no longer have a dad. I don’t have to tell people about this fictitious figure pretending to remind me I could be the little girl of his dreams. The door closes, but I still need to unpack the house.
I wish you peace you never found on earth. A tortured soul left to die alone. Despite owing you any love, in some weird, ridiculous manner I am sitting over a keyboard sobbing for your soul. How I wish life had been easier, more enjoyable and what you expected. Mom always told me you were a “good guy”. I hope there is a place in heaven for those “good guys” with intention that never quite figured it out.