A Mom’s Note to Her Father

Father. Dad. Daddy.

Those words should mean something to me. Should invoke some feeling of unconditional love for a man, a protector, a provider. A father. However, they don’t. To me, they’re just words. Titles that should be earned, not assumed. But, you never earned any of those titles. I’m not even sure that you cared to. You just assumed that they were a given. However, as it turns out, that’s not how it all works.

The truth is, I can’t even write (or say) the word ‘father’ without feeling weird about it. You once asked me why I never called you ‘Daddy.’ I told you that you’ve never earned that title. Consequently, you weren’t very happy to hear that. I believe that in your mind, you thought that it was a given for a daughter to love her father. But how could you have expected me to love someone I’ve never met?

I never really understood what it really meant to have a father. You never taught me. You never showed me. The early years of my life had me believing that it meant talking on the phone and never seeing you. Calling and never being called. I thought that this was normal.

Naivity at its finest.

Whenever we did speak, you would talk to my brother and I as if everything was okay. As if everything was the way it should be. As if you were what we needed you to be. I should’ve figured things out though, especially seeing that your wife never spoke to you.

I thought that it was normal for a father to make promises he knew he wouldn’t keep. “I’ll be back in December.” When that didn’t happen, it would always change to “Things didn’t work out, but I’ll see you next February.” It took twenty-two years for “things to work out,” though it was never in the way that you had expected.

Would you have even returned if you hadn’t been forced to?

The Story

Your story was that you migrated in order to make life better for us. However, in reality, you were the only one who seemed to have benefited. Whatever life you had made, it must have been pretty darn good because you seemed to have forgotten about your wife and your two children. Not to mention the other two children you had also left behind.

I was eleven (11) years old when I realized that you weren’t the man you should have been. I was crushed when I realized the truth. However, as surprising as this may sound to you, my mother never once told us that you were a bad parent. The truth is, she was the one who encouraged us to call you. My mother, your wife, the ‘love’ you left behind, allowed my brother and I to reach our own conclusions about you. I bet you’d never believe that.

I, however, will forever be grateful for her and her strength because it must have taken a lot of it to not verbally beat down on the man she had promised her life to.

She gave us room to learn, but most of all, she gave us room to be angry. Angry at the man who was supposed to be our protector. You. My father.

You were supposed to love and take care of your family.

However, you CHOSE not to. That stark realization changed my world and my perception of it. Why didn’t my own father want to be in my life? I felt rejected, confused and angry. So angry.

As a result, my barriers were higher than they had ever been. I played tough. Whenever someone would ask about you and my feelings towards you, I would nonchalantly dismiss any sympathy thrown my way. I tried, desperately, to never once give anyone an indication that I cared.

However, beneath it all, there was a small part of me-though never acknowledged-that hoped for the day that you would come up to me and tell me what an idiot you had been. I never allowed my imaginations to take me much further than that. It’s not like I imagined you walking me down the aisle or anything like that.

Rejection. That’s what it was. Plain and Simple.

At fifteen (15) years old, as a result of me finally deciding to stop believing your lies and fake promises. As a result of me telling you how it really is, how I really felt about your callousness and uncaring attitude, you told me that you never wanted to speak to me again. There you were, rejecting me. Yet again. After fifteen (15) years of absence, after fifteen (15) years of you not contributing to our lives (whether financially or otherwise) you actually had the gall to say that to me.

How. Dare. You?

Seven (7) years later, after you were forced to return home, we saw you one night. “This is it.” I thought. ” I’ll finally get the satisfaction of having the choice of deciding whether or not I wanted to be the one to reject you.” I guess I overestimated your sense of responsibility. For some reason, I thought I would get to see you owning up to your mistakes.

But the joke was on me.

My brother, being the peacemaker and ‘bigger’ person that he is, decided to walk up to you and introduce himself. Just like that. I imagined him telling you-while he pointed at us- “Nikeisha and Mommy are right over there, do you want to go over there and talk to them?”

We had been standing several meters behind you.

I saw you turn your head and look in our direction. But instead of acknowledging us, or even giving us a head nod, you turned right back around.

You rejected us. Rejected me. Yet again. That one stung, more than I had cared to admit.

I’m guessing you’re the reason why I’m always second-guessing myself. The reason why it’s so hard for me to trust.

You, father dearest, are the reason why most often than not, I feel emotionally numb.

That’s life, beautifully unpredictable.

It took me three (3) years to muster the courage to even want to ‘confront’ you. Maybe I was scared about the outcome. My brother and I had decided that we would be visiting you that Saturday. I was ready to forgive you. I was ready to move forward. Ultimately, I was ready for closure. And maybe, eventually, I would have even introduced you to your granddaughter and son-in-law.

However, that wasn’t to be. It turned out we would have been too late. We heard that you were hospitalized on Tuesday and on Wednesday, you drew your last breath.

That wasn’t how things were supposed to pan out. I was supposed to have had all the time in the world to work up the courage to finally be able to approach you. To talk to you. For good, or for bad. To hear you apologize and ask for forgiveness. I was supposed to have had all the time in the world to work on forgiving you and eventually telling you that in person. But that wasn’t to be. Life had other plans. But, I guess that’s life, beautifully unpredictable.

Whether your words would have been “I don’t care to be in your life” or “I’m sorry I was never a father to you,” I would have liked the chance to hear them.

However, that’s not a possibility anymore.

How was I to forgive someone that was to be put in a grave?

It was weird sitting in that church seeing people cry for you, hearing people say how much of a kind, genuine and caring person you were. I think your three children sitting in that crowd, plus the other one that had been unable to attend would have begged to differ.

You seem to have meant something to these people. But what did you mean to me? The man that could have been? The father that never was?

At your funeral, your cousin ‘mentioned’ just how comfortable you had been living overseas. It must have been nice. Thank God my mother was as strong of a woman as she is. Because of her, my brother and I never knew what it meant to be hungry. Because of her, we knew what it meant to be loved and cared for.

Why write this note now?

So, tomorrow is Fathers’ Day and after two (2) years after your death, I’m still not sure how to feel about you. The road to forgiving you seems to have been blocked. Maybe its the fact that I’ll never get the satisfaction of yelling at you. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ll never get the satisfaction of hearing you apologize.

So yes, I’m probably still angry. The good news, however, is that from now on, I’ll try making steps towards forgiving you.

That’s why I wrote this note in hopes that it would help me work my way up to finally put all the hurt that you had caused behind me. It was done in hopes that I could, one day, learn to forgive you. My dead father.

Showing appreciation for you would be a step forward.

So, I think that I can start by saying thank you. Thank you for literally giving the seed that would see to my conception, because, without you, I wouldn’t be the me that I am. And although you’ve made me into a woman with ‘daddy issues,’ I am still grateful for those circumstances that you directly and/or indirectly influenced. Good or bad.

That’s it. That’s all that I’ve been able to come up with so far. Therefore, with that said, I guess this is goodbye. For now anyway, until I can come up with the rest.

Hesitantly,

Your Daughter.