A broken heart, born from a Father’s loss

Staring at the phone in my hand, I couldn’t help the overwhelming emotion that filled me with… something? It tightened my lungs and blurred my vision and I couldn’t understand what label to describe this pain. Relief? For what specifically? Anger? Towards who anymore? Sadness? What was I grieving now?

All so close, and yet couldn’t quite reach the description I so desperately searched for. Something to rationalize the overwhelming emotion in my chest, as I saw the first text message from my dad. I had contacted him full of resentment and anger, I had been ready to finally say everything that built up in my chest over 19 years of my life.

The loneliness that I battled among the many the wars that littered my life. I had finally built the courage to reach out and contact the man I knew existed but never had the privilege to meet before. His response though, that I had not been prepared for. I expected many outcomes, a thousand different ones even.

Reading his desire to be in my life, and seeing that he desperately wanted to be apart of it? These responses I was not prepared for. I could physically feel a crack in the pressure in my chest and I could no longer decide the feeling I felt anymore. What did this even mean?

I always knew that if I had actually grown up with a father I would have been a daddy’s girl. I never knew exactly why he wasn’t around, or knew the full story behind the past. All I knew was that he wasn’t there, and that’s where the resentment took hold and built itself a house on my heart.

The foundation of that house cracked in his response, and after so many years I couldn’t even process the change right away. A father, they are supposed to be your rock, stability, your first line of defense. I had mine locked away from me, and nothing protected me even in childhood from the harsh cruelty of the world. I learned it all from scratch.

I knew nothing of a world involving a father figure. To some level I felt like I had become a masculine like father figure myself towards my little brother. The tears fell and I didn’t even know what I was crying about exactly, I still couldn’t predict what this would mean. I could still feel all that weight resting on my shoulders to carry my family through life. The story of Atlas in Greek mythology had always been a representation of what it felt like. To this day I believe that is what the pressure of responsibility is, and how it feels to actually be a father.

So I waited a couple days to respond. I didn’t even know what to say or how open I was to all of this. I want a relationship with my father, but also how can I get close enough. These waters are pitch black, and I took a cannonball straight down to the bottom of the pool. After all that my hands shook with fear as I finally began texting back and responding.

The plans to meet were made for around my birthday, I was anxious and nervous. My heart pounded in my chest while doubts of it even being real filled my head. If it was real however, how do I talk to him? what am I even supposed to say? How does one even really talk to dads? Maybe I overthink too much, but everyone would if everything you ever believed in was flipped upside down. I was grateful for my fiancé, his comforting and familiar person would be my anchor through what I imagine to be a very awkward night.

When he was right in front of me my anxiety reached its peak as he hugged me, so happy to see me. I was so surprised to see I looked so much like him as well, and imagine all the other family members I had yet to meet through it all.

Missing a father throughout my life was a drastic effect on my childhood and relationship with my mother and brother. I remember the many tough, long, sad nights, and the hard, exhausting days. Watching with sadness as other people had things without working for it, that I did not as a child.

Despite my anger and resentment I had always wished I had a father growing up. Now I met him the man, the myth, and the legend himself. He was none of anything I expected in a good way, and still anxiety plagued me that this relationship would be ruined too. Despite how hard it might be for him, he’s trying to be there. He’s taking the patience to bring me in slowly, and waits for me to be more comfortable.

Now all those feelings of anger and resentment have become guilt. I now understand what I was feeling when he first responded to me.I was relieved that my father loved me. I was angry that I hadn’t had him in my life for 19 years. I was sad that all those fun father daughter things in school were all relics of the past now. I had missed so much, he missed so much. However, This is not the end of our story. This was only the beginning, and I hope it blossoms beautifully. I hope we become such close family members that our dark past is easily history.