If you are a faithful reader of my blog you know I write a lot about being a father, but this blog post will be written as a son. And I have no idea where it will go. All I know is that I need to write something to help deal with finding out today that my biological father has passed away.
There are so many emotional elements that I am processing right now.
The first is dealing with the third death in less than a year. The harsh reality that our time here is limited and unknown. But I’m going to leave this topic for another day.
This post is about me as a son. Of spending most of my life dealing with the question of why I was never important enough for either of my parents to love me, to raise me, to guide me in this life. And now I won’t have the chance to ask my father… or as any son deeply desires, to know if he was proud of me.
A blog post is not enough space to tell my whole story. To bring forth the pain his absence created in my life and does still to this day. And I am scared of the feelings I will have tomorrow.
He never saw me play football in high school or in college. He has never seen his six grandchildren. I never had my father to ask advice from. He lived his life as if I wasn’t here.
And yes, I know that some of you are asking why I didn’t reach out to repair the relationship. First, a single blog post can not cover the craziness of my younger years. The alcohol and drug use my parents partook in, living with them with their new wife or husbands, moving from city to city. As I grew older, I understood how I was seen as a burden at times or other times simply forgotten by both of my parents.
And as I started a family, worked at being a good dad, I became even more angry at both of my parents because I did a good job of being a dad. Yes, it was hard at times, I have sacrificed for them, but I am proud of my kids. And that deep rooted question grew even more in my heart.
Why couldn’t my parents love me? Why wasn’t I worth their time?
There was a moment when my father and I reconnected for a brief second. We saw each other in person (a crazy story) and a few letters were sent back and forth but in the end it was clear that nothing had changed. I wasn’t a son he wanted to be a father to (he had another family). So I went on living my life, never having the question answered.
But I am his son. And it hurts to even think about what could have been, maybe what should have been.
I believe all children, but especially sons, just want to know that their father is proud of them. Sadly, now, I will never know. I am left believing he didn’t care… and that hurts the most.
It is all Connected 
My heart was touched by this post. I can feel the pain you are experiencing. You can and will make a difference for your own children, by loving them, being proud of their accomplishments, placing them in God’s hands, and cheering for them. I’m sure you will do that. God bless you!
Thank you for replying. It has been a challenging year, but also have been blessed though by friends and family…
First of all, I’m sorry for your loss. I can only imagine what you’re going through. I lost a father figure a year ago today, my dear uncle who had to step in for my dad, who like yours, was dealing with addiction.
I was fortunate enough to be able to talk with my dad about all the questions his absence brought up throughout the years, and I did get some closure.
Like you, I was fortunate to become a father, and my children only intensified my yearning to reconnect with my father. I’m thankful for them, for the perspective they give me and for the love they have shown and taught me.
I hope you continue on this path of healing and that your bereavement lessens as you process this huge loss. Take care and stay strong.
Thank you for sharing your story. I can’t imagine the difference of being able to talk with your father had for you. That sense of knowing and closure…
Yes, being a father changes our perspective and priorities. There is a depth of life, of joy, and even heartbreak being a parent brings to our everyday life that can not be matched by anything else.
I have always said that we are all a work in progress… this though has shown me that sometimes we are in the midst of repair…
Thank you again for taking the time to read and sharing your story!
Your honesty is touching. I’m sorry for your loss-not only in death but also in the possibilities for answers. Your own children will have a different story to tell.
Thank you. Life doesn’t workout like the movies, for sure. But yes, I worked hard to give my children a different story. Thank you for replying.