Fathers day is always tinged with a little bit of sadness for me, as it's been 3 years since I've talked to my dad. For all of you kids out there who have a difficult relationship with a parent - I understand firsthand what that feels like, and how hard it can be. Growing up, it was always a guessing game to see if my dad would show up to gymnastics meets, graduations, birthday parties, dance recitals. Normally my father would arrive hours late, and we used to joke that we had to tell him to show up 3 hours early just to get him there on time. When he moved out of state when I was in middle school, I didn't see him for over 2 years. I remember crying back then - how much I missed daddy. Wondering when I would see him again. Feeling certain that he spent every day thinking of me and how much he missed me. But as an adult, the honest truth is that I really don't know if my father ever thought of me at all. I'm sure my father loves me, but maybe it's just not the kind of love I needed. It was only ever one sided. Hours in the car with him while he smoked, telling the same life stories. Years of forgetting birthdays. Sitting by the front door for 5 hours waiting on him to show up when he said he would. Calling to say he'd forgotten and wasn't going to make it. Or worse - the times when there were no explanations at all. My father hung the moon to me when I was a girl. I loved my mom, but she was tough on me. I was dad's little girl. He always had my back.
The day I decided to stop talking to my father, my mother told me how she'd tried my whole life to hide the kind of person he was from me. This is the depth of a mother's love, I suppose. But on that day, the puzzle pieces of my entire life felt like they clicked into place. It was the day before my wedding, and I hadn't heard from my father, even though he'd promised he'd be there. I had put off contacting him, worried about what might happen, but wanted to put the reality off. Everyone else was in town. I wanted to preserve the happiness I felt then... to put it into a box to keep it forever. A weekend surrounded by all of the people in my life I loved most. Including my daddy. I finally reached out to him, and that's when he told me,
"Oh, honey, sorry, I can't make it... xoxo".
I feel so much anger about that moment even now, even 3 years after coming to peace with things. That day, it felt like cold anger. Anger that had lived within me my whole life, burning only softly in the background. How could I even be that upset, knowing without wanting to ever admit it to myself that I'd never been my father's priority? I was heartbroken. Of course I was. That was the only time I shed tears over it. But this scenario encapsulated the relationship I'd had with my father for 22 years, whether I'd wanted to see it or not. The same thing had happened for my college graduation when he cancelled the night before, citing he just needed some time to decompress from work. All I'd wanted was to see my father for my graduation. Did he even care? Did I even make him proud? The 4 years that went by that he'd promised he'd come visit me at college. All the promises my father ever made, in fact, that were only fiction. The agreement him and my mom made to help me pay for my college tuition when my loans were short what I needed. "What am I going to do, then, Dad?" I'd asked him. "Drop out?" "I honestly don't care," my dad had told me. "If you have to drop out and work at McDonald's, that's God's will!"
This isn't really a post meant to bash my father, though. That's just to fill in a backstory for you. It's more just to reflect on what being his daughter feels like, and truly, it's this: Always having loved the idea of my father. All that I wanted him to be. All that I hoped he would be. But there may come a time in your life when you realize that your idea of who someone you love is isn't the same as reality. When, as much as you love them, you realize that the cost of continuing to let them in and let them hurt you really isn't worth holding on that long kept dream or idea. And this is why I chose to let go of my father. I tried to amend - I really did. I confronted him. I told him how he hurt me, many times. But my father never listened to me, even then, the last time. He only ever brushed what I felt off, and then ignored it like it never happened. Even now - my father will send me messages. Songs, or political opinions, or random news articles... acting like it never happened. I sent my father a long message about why I would no longer be talking to him on that day that we last spoke. He never responded. Never sent a card, or a present, for our wedding. And now he acts as though he can just nonchalantly still be a part of my life? The answer will be no, so long as my father chooses to ignore that he has hurt me in more ways to number. The answer will be no, so long as he refuses to sit down and have a conversation with me in which he holds himself responsible for his actions. And I truly doubt that day will come. It's not impossible, but nothing ever is, but... I don't hold my breath. Not anymore. He isn't worth that kind of heartache.
It's been 3 years, and things feel almost the same. My father never tried to be a part of my life. Never put the effort in. That hasn't changed. But what has changed is that my dad doesn't hurt me anymore, because I got to choose that. And that feels good. Because the cool thing about adulthood is that you do get to choose who you let in to be a part of your family, and I have a really great stepdad that I know loves me and has my back. I enjoy spending time with him. I never worry about whether he'll keep his promises. He's always 15 minutes early. He's reliable, and we butt heads sometimes, but he's everything I ever hoped my dad would be like, but never was. (And he probably won't read this because he doesn't have social media, but hey, you guys get to.)
It's been 3 years, and I've grown a lot. I've been growing all along. Learning, understanding, what it means to be a strong woman even when you feel alone. Letting that fire drive me to succeed in what I put my mind to. Pushing myself to heal despite all the wounds he created. Treasuring my mother all the more for being the strong and supportive mother she's always been, as hard as I might have liked to think she was on me when I was 16. Daddy issues... sure, I have a few. That's part of who I am, and I won't or couldn't deny that. But there's no shame in that. And there's no shame in taking the reigns of your life into your own hands, and choosing the kind of family you want to surround yourself with. There's no shame in choosing to say goodbye because that's what's better for you. And that's where I'm at: this is better for me. I don't hate my father, I never will. I forgive him today and every day. But I don't want him to be a part of my life, not anymore. He had 22 years to do that, and what he chooses to do for the rest - well, that's up to him. It's not my concern anymore. I love my dad, because heck, I wouldn't be here without him. There will always be a hole left from all of the hopes and dreams I had for him in my life. A hole left in the place all children have where they crave and need the positive affirmation and love of a parent. I am left to contend with that in other ways. But I am learning. There's no shame in that. Only new strength to be found.
My thoughts go out to all of you today, who have lost fathers. Who have difficult or estranged relationships with your fathers. All of the scenarios in between. And my heart is happy for those of you who never have to confront these burdens.
Much Love,
Lacy
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