Daddyless

I picked out a Father's Day card for my dad today. It's hard to pick out a card for a father who has let you down due to things that were within his control, and also out of his control. I stood there in Target, scanning all of the Father's Day cards, feeling my heart breaking and wanting to cry as I quickly passed over the ones about Daddy's little girl and Daddy being a hero and this and that.
It took me almost a half an hour to find a card that still is half ass at describing the relationship I have with my father.

Hi. I'm that stereotypical daddyless girl from a broken home, the daddyless girl I pray to god my daughter never winds up having to be.

My parents split when I was six. Smart decision, given the circumstances, but that doesn't make my pretty much fatherless existence any easier to cope with. I talk to my father perhaps six times a year, and see him maybe half that. It isn't for lack of trying on my part. I can tell you stories of the summer of 2002, when I was dealing with a lot and tried for two months straight to get a hold of him. I called every single day, and wrote every week. Or how about the winter of 2004, when I wanted to make sure he was even still ALIVE, and made the trip down to Philly to pound his apartment door down until he answered. At that point it had been six years since I had seen him, and I barely recognized him. Scratch that. I didn't recognize him at all. I apologized to the man in the bathrobe for disturbing him, and started to walk away when he spoke, and I remembered his voice and turned back.

He promises to call. To write. To send cards. He never does. I dutifully send cards for the holidays, and update letters and photos every month or two. If I go down in person, and manage to catch him when he's home and awake, then he acts as if nothing is wrong, apologizes for not calling or writing ("I meant to", "I got sidetracked", "I forgot", "I never got around to picking up stamps"), and talks my ear off for the next few hours, since obviously there's a lot of catching up to do.
And then it's the broken promises, all over again. To call. To write. To send cards.

Last year he had the nerve to get upset and act hurt because I forgot to send him a Father's Day card.
I haven't received a card from him in over five years...

I'm going to be twenty-four in exactly one month. You'd think that by now I wouldn't let this bother me the way that it sometimes does. You'd think I'd finally understand, that I'd get it, and just surrender to what's meant to be, for whatever reason, and refuse to dwell and insist on moving on.

But it isn't that easy. It isn't.

I envy Alyssa, for the beautiful relationship she has with Daniel. When she's older and understands, I'm going to tell her to be thankful every single day of her life for her father and the fact that he is in her life and with her, and to tell him she loves him all of the time. It's the least she can do. Especially since I always tell my dad that I love him, and I don't have him with me like she does Dan.

Blech. I'm sorry for the late night ramblings about such a mopey subject, but I'm sitting here addressing the Father's Day card that I finally chose for my father, and everything came bubbling up.

P.S. The Win a momAgenda contest is now closed. A winner will be chosen and announced on Tuesday afternoon.