Good morning, dear friends. I wanted to blog sooner. I always have the best intentions of getting back into blogging regularly but then life happens. Doesn't that always seem to happen?
After realizing who she was talking about, I suddenly felt nothing. I was shocked, but I didn't feel any sadness or any pain. No tears flowed. I kept thinking was that wrong. There's something wrong with me. Shouldn't I feel something? This is the man that helped create me. I share his DNA for crying out loud. I have his eyes, his hair color.
I was nine the last time I went to stay with him. The custody agreement at that time stated we had to go every other weekend. I stopped going because he wasn't part of our lives. He didn't do anything with us when we were at his house. We were our stepmother's problem for the weekend. She took care of us. She baked cookies with us. After choosing to not go anymore, he never reached out again. Before, I stopped seeing he never called during the week or the times we didn't see him. After I stopped going there were no calls, no birthday cards, no Christmas presents, no calls to see how I was. He paid his child support most of the time. It was often late and at one point they had to go after his paycheck. When I turned 18, he literally calculated the amount for the first 6 days (my birthday is the 6th) and only paid that. I know this because I opened up the mail. How low do you have to be? What type of man slacks in his financial responsibilities to his child? My stepdad offered to adopt us, but our biological dad said no. I still wonder why he just didn't let him. He wouldn't have had to pay child support, and he would have been able to go enjoy his new life. He did remarry. They never had any children. I don't know if she couldn't or didn't want any.
I did see my biological dad one more time at 12 years old. I was at a friend's house for a sleepover. She lived on the same street as him. We were playing kickball in the street. He drove up and honked at us to get out of the road. I stood in the road until he honked his horn again. I slowly moved and stepped off to the side. He looked at me through his driver's side window and had no clue who I was. That hurt. It had only been 3 years, and I hadn't changed how I looked. The best part is I resemble him. You would have thought he would have recognized me.
Years ago, my sister started talking to him. She reached out to him. He didn't reach out to her or me ever. She said he had regrets. I would hope so. I felt nothing. Before kids, I might have forgiven him for walking out. He walked out on my 3rd Birthday. It's one of the first memories I have. After having my kids, I can't understand how you do that. I would walk through hell and back all day long before I would ever abandon my children. What type of person walks away from their child? You're the adult, act like one. Grow up and take some responsibility. It's your responsibility to be there, to support them, to love them, to show up!! It wasn't mine; I was the child who lost their daddy. I was hurt and confused. When I was younger, I often wondered what I did to make him not love me, not want to see me, not be a part of his life.
It's been 4 days since I learned of his passing. He was buried yesterday. I did find his obituary online. It came out a few days ago. It mentioned my kids and I. I was angry when I saw it. How dare they claim that he's survived by us. He doesn't know us. He never met my children. It's been 43 years since he even saw me, talked to me, acknowledged me. I realize now I'm angry. Angry at him for never apologizing. Never admitting he screwed up. He was dying from lung cancer and never had the thought to make amends. Maybe that's just television drama. You would that sometime during the past 43 years, he would have reached out, apologized, or admitted he messed up and was wrong.
I don't miss him. I won't miss. Someone has to love you to be a part of your life in order to make an impact on you. I won't grieve for him. I did that years ago.
I guess now, I'll just always have the question of why.
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