In 1985, my sister graduated from high school, and my mom took her to New York City to celebrate. Meanwhile, my dad, feeling miserable and sensing an opportunity, invited his girlfriend over, packed his bags, and left. I was just twelve years old.
One glaring detail that seemed to slip his mind was that I would be left alone in the house for five days until my mother and sister returned. At that tender age, I didn’t grasp the complexities of marriage and relationships, so I assumed it was somehow my fault. I kept this secret bottled up until my twenties when I finally shared it with my sister. Can anyone say abandonment issues? Yes, I’ve definitely got those.
My sister bore the brunt of my father’s strictness during his time with us. She was a teenager, while I was too young to create any real conflict. We were close; we played video games and cooked together. But everything changed once he left, making it all the more difficult for me to process.
My father’s departure marked the first and most significant betrayal of my life, and even today, I struggle with that pain. I found myself harboring resentment toward him for decades. When he passed away in 2008, the narrative I had constructed about him was so deeply ingrained that I hardly shed a tear upon seeing him on his deathbed.
Life and memory are convoluted. You create your own history, and what you believe shapes your reality—regardless of its accuracy. My father wasn’t the monster I had painted him to be. He was just a flawed human, and I wish I had come to that realization sooner. He made mistakes, as we all do, and he wasn’t great at apologizing. I often reminded myself of those missteps until the day he died.
At his funeral, I approached his lifeless form in the coffin. Touching his face felt like pottery—so small and fragile, a far cry from the intimidating figure I knew. I recalled the last time I ignored one of his calls while working at a bar. I didn’t know that I would lose the chance to hear his voice the very next day when he suffered a catastrophic stroke.
Life is unpredictable, and we must always strive to do our best because we never know what tomorrow holds. I regret not answering that call, and that regret will follow me to my grave.
Ironically, I have a son who seems to be a reincarnation of my father. He has the same skin tone and hairline, and even shares my father’s stance. Sometimes, I catch him smiling at something I can’t see, and I envision my dad up there, making my son laugh just as he once did with me.
When a parent betrays us or leaves, anger can often be our only anchor. While it’s perfectly valid to feel that way, I wish I had heeded the old saying, “Don’t let the sun go down while you are still angry.” Some moments in life simply don’t offer a do-over.
On what would have been your 82nd birthday, Dad, I want to say, “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry for being human. I’m sorry you were too. I regret not figuring this all out while you were still here. And in the future, when you visit your grandchild, could you come around four o’clock? He gets a bit grumpy then, and your presence always brightens his day.
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Summary:
This heartfelt reflection recounts a daughter’s journey of coping with her father’s abandonment when she was just twelve. It explores themes of betrayal, anger, and eventual understanding of human flaws. The author expresses regret for unresolved feelings and wishes she had reconciled her relationship with her father before his passing. The narrative also touches on the impact of family legacy through the author’s son, who embodies traits of his grandfather.