The Effects of Growing Up With An Absentee Parent
I am not quite sure how to begin this post. I have never featured content concerning my father or his family before as a writer, and to say that this past weekend was a huge deal is an understatement. My father and I do not have a close relationship. In reality, our lifelong connection has largely been nonexistent. My father has been what I call a ‘revolving door’ parent all of my life and caused a great deal of pain during my childhood with residual effects from an ex stepfather that have lasted well into my adult years.
I had a wonderful visit with him and my half sisters on Sunday afternoon: Kathy, Stephanie, and Amanda. My half brother Whit (my father’s son) is currently in jail due to drug use, and I reconnected with him via telephone. We ate, we talked, and we all took pictures. I even got to meet and hold my newest nephew, Jude.
I love my father, but my heart just has a hard time overlooking the time that was lost and the painful memories of my past. I wouldn’t call it un-forgiveness; I forgive him. The time lost and the connections undone are what hurt the most. I sat and ate, remembering my grandmother. She passed away almost ten years ago and to this day the grief is so powerful; sometimes at night, I lie in bed and cry because I miss her love and the way she and my great aunt Irene loved me. I grew up extremely close to them as a young child and I had that connection ripped away from me. I possess home videos and candles that Mamaw Ruby & I painted during one afternoon when she babysat me.
The effect of a visit with my father always plays out with the same physical reaction: I become nervous before it is time to see him, I go and enjoy myself, and then a few days later the deeply buried grudge I possess returns with a striking force. I know I am not the only person who has experience dealing with an absentee parent. I long for the day when he would admit to how he has been without making excuses; with that, I believe the grudge would lessen in its severity. I have grown up with such anxiety towards men, and he is part of the reason why. To me, he is the man of empty promises. He never follows through with anything. He has lied to me countless times, and he goes several years without a visit. As a child, I grew up begging for his attention. As I’ve gotten older, I no longer initiate visits but he is welcome to see me; I will never say no to seeing him. I go any time he asks.
I’m sorry I cannot let that go. I can’t pretend like that last twenty years didn’t happen. I am happy that my sisters are happy, and I wish the best for them. I enjoyed the visit. I enjoyed the food. A few happy memories flashed into my mind during that time, including my dad’s kebabs, which were always the best part about any cookout when I was a child and my parents were still married.
I know Daddy loves me in his own way. I accept that. I just hope that in time the grudge I hold will disappear.
I am sorry, but I am human.
I know as a Christian it is not a wise thing to hold a grudge, but I do. The fact that he has only half way apologized has always made my skin boil. You don’t do that to a child for any reason at all. I have never written in anger before, but I know as a creator it is okay to share honest sentiments. I don’t hate him. I forgive him the same way he apologized to me: half way.
What hurts the most is the fact that deep in my soul is the purest love and longing for this man to treat me with unconditional love and respect, a type of relationship I know I will never receive from him. He doesn’t care the same way I care. He doesn’t have the capacity for love that I have.
I am sorry but I am human.
This is my story as an adult child of an absentee parent.
