A curious take. As soon as he knew where you were, even after decades, he sent you a birthday card, on your actual birthday. When he died, he left you all his worldly goods, $300 was everything he had, he wanted it to be yours. He neither forgot you, nor felt pointless guilt, he evidently did not have a comfortable life. Perhaps shame was a familiar feeling for him.
Millions of parents in the world, mothers and fathers, walk away from children without a backwards glance, often with no feelings, and it never has anything to do with the child. Adults are flawed. Humans are flawed.
We survive a lot of stuff that should have crushed us to dust. Your Mom was a beauty her whole life and passed that and her heart to you. There was double love from her, so you grew up with just one puzzle piece waiting. That one was so small no one noticed it except you two. You painted over the space with a color called Amazing. Hugses K
There is an objective way to look at this (which an outsider might try to do) and there is the subjective way to look at this (which is only available to the person experiencing it). They are not the same.
I remember reading this way back when, yet reading it again gives me the same sad feelings.
Thanks for giving it the second read. Yes, sad. But you know, of course, I did not write this piece to seek sympathy, but rather to affirm that no matter how we begin our lives, we can rise. It is a matter of will. My mother had this will. So did I.
Oh, Sharron, this was such a painful but beautifully told story. I ache for you and can't begin to imagine ... The title, so apt. I'm sure posting it today, Veterans day, was purely intentional. Reading it took me back to the first story I read of yours; "Two Fathers-No Dad" (I think that was the title).
Thanks, Connie! Very sweet. I hope my intent came through on this memoir - not to play "poor me", but rather to affirm our ability to rise above hardship, if we are determined -- especially as women.
Your intent came through, Sharron. And you seem to get the same thought/worry I sometimes do when writing (or, rather, publishing) about a painful even--I worry it'll be read as an "oh, poor me" story which is never my intent. Kudos!
Blessed in so many many ways. My absent father was just one factor of many that made me who I am. Thank you, Jim, for your always empathetic comments. I appreciate you.
"But three hundred dollars was not what I needed." Definitely. Dear Lord!!! This sounds SO FAMILIAR (long story). But you're out there creating, finding new friends, and enjoying life. Dad couldn't bury you. Be well dear friend and continue writing stories of hope, love, and a brighter future....
Lyle McKeany in his Substack article this morning quoted writer Glennon Doyle. I thought of you. And I thought of myself. She said “Grief is love's souvenir. It's our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price.”
How absolutely true! I never thought of love (and love lost) in such terms. But come to think of it Doyle's quote catches the essence of love perfectly. All of us who loved, and were eventually rejected by those we did love, we have won the red badge of courage. I can't say I like this outcome. I still "love" the one who shot me out of the sky... and I don't feel I am a "victim" of sentimentality. I'm though sad because she still does not realize how much love can do in keeping her stable and collected in the face of the vagaries of life. I still wish she can come to see the light... although, honestly, I don't think she will "bend the knee" because of an often irrational pride and the legacies of a terrible, abusing, criminal father who marked her soul forever. She also does not realize our time on this earth is diminishing steadily... and by the time she might see the light we'll both be very near to crossing the Acheron to land in the underworld. Shame... because she is, among others, a brilliant classicist. And what a waste to boot!
I already have a rather longish piece written... but, believe it or not, I feel really depressed at the mere thought of publishing it. Weird, eh? I still love my ex the same way I always did. Am I a stupid idiot? Perhaps. But the inner workings of the heart are unexplained phenomena... Sad. And more sad. Still, I might take your suggestion at some point. Thank you for your thoughts. Really....
This is very touching to me, mostly because I can relate. I think your dad did love you and have all those feelings you'd wondered if he had. But I also think estranged dads don't know how to come back after a long absence. We think it's as simple as coming back. In his mind it may have been guilt and shame that kept him away.
I never made peace with my estranged father until the day I got a call from some distant relatives that he was on life support and would never come out. So I made the choice to go to the hospital and be there for his last breath. What was interesting to me is that when I showed up, held his comatose hand, and told him it was me, his heart monitor fluctuated significantly. I believe he understood I was there. And I understood what forgiveness felt like.
He was just a lost man who didn't know how to be a dad.
This would make a compelling story if you could write it down and post it, Kristi. Might be good for you. I have to admit my writing is often therapeutic. Though I rarely write first-person accounts, many of my fictions, written in the third person, come directly / indirectly from my own life.
Hey Sharron. What someone doesn't give seems to insure those we love never get the same. Thankful for you, for your mom, for your light and courage. You scatter beautiful leaves everywhere. 🍁
Gosh, Sharron. Just gosh. I'm sending you so much love. What a remarkable story. Please claim extra big hugs from me when we meet. ♥️♥️♥️
Thank you, my friend.
A curious take. As soon as he knew where you were, even after decades, he sent you a birthday card, on your actual birthday. When he died, he left you all his worldly goods, $300 was everything he had, he wanted it to be yours. He neither forgot you, nor felt pointless guilt, he evidently did not have a comfortable life. Perhaps shame was a familiar feeling for him.
Millions of parents in the world, mothers and fathers, walk away from children without a backwards glance, often with no feelings, and it never has anything to do with the child. Adults are flawed. Humans are flawed.
This is exactly how I read this, too.
Thank you, Kristi. I appreciate your comments so much.
Thank you for this sensitive comment, Caz, and welcome to 🍁Leaves! Flawed, indeed. Every one of us.
We survive a lot of stuff that should have crushed us to dust. Your Mom was a beauty her whole life and passed that and her heart to you. There was double love from her, so you grew up with just one puzzle piece waiting. That one was so small no one noticed it except you two. You painted over the space with a color called Amazing. Hugses K
Awww. Beautifully put, Kate. I was a lucky girl in so many ways. Thank you.
There is an objective way to look at this (which an outsider might try to do) and there is the subjective way to look at this (which is only available to the person experiencing it). They are not the same.
I remember reading this way back when, yet reading it again gives me the same sad feelings.
You are awesome, Sharron.
Thanks for giving it the second read. Yes, sad. But you know, of course, I did not write this piece to seek sympathy, but rather to affirm that no matter how we begin our lives, we can rise. It is a matter of will. My mother had this will. So did I.
Still a poignant piece at this second reading, Sharron. Absolutely hits the heart. Especially at the ending.
Thank you, Linda, for saying so. Just a little piece to the puzzle in my brain.
The pink satin baby book; a photo in a sock drawer. Lingering images, layered nuance. Gorgeous snippet, Sharron.
Thanks so much for your always kind comments, Amie.
Oh, Sharron, this was such a painful but beautifully told story. I ache for you and can't begin to imagine ... The title, so apt. I'm sure posting it today, Veterans day, was purely intentional. Reading it took me back to the first story I read of yours; "Two Fathers-No Dad" (I think that was the title).
Sending you virtual hugs. x
Thanks, Connie! Very sweet. I hope my intent came through on this memoir - not to play "poor me", but rather to affirm our ability to rise above hardship, if we are determined -- especially as women.
Your intent came through, Sharron. And you seem to get the same thought/worry I sometimes do when writing (or, rather, publishing) about a painful even--I worry it'll be read as an "oh, poor me" story which is never my intent. Kudos!
Okay, then. Thanks!
Sometimes I just have to shake my head. People can say that it has nothing to do with the child but try telling that to the child.
He missed out on so much when he ran away. But I have no sympathy for him.
You had a beautiful, supportive mother. You are rich in that regard.
Blessed in so many many ways. My absent father was just one factor of many that made me who I am. Thank you, Jim, for your always empathetic comments. I appreciate you.
That's a tough beginning. I'd bet there was guilt. Perhaps even punishment that he brought upon himself. He could neither face it nor forget it.
Yes. I feel sorry for him. I would have been a good daughter! He, no doubt, needed love.
"But three hundred dollars was not what I needed." Definitely. Dear Lord!!! This sounds SO FAMILIAR (long story). But you're out there creating, finding new friends, and enjoying life. Dad couldn't bury you. Be well dear friend and continue writing stories of hope, love, and a brighter future....
Lyle McKeany in his Substack article this morning quoted writer Glennon Doyle. I thought of you. And I thought of myself. She said “Grief is love's souvenir. It's our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price.”
https://www.lyle.blog/p/hey-writers-you-should-be-more-vulnerable
How absolutely true! I never thought of love (and love lost) in such terms. But come to think of it Doyle's quote catches the essence of love perfectly. All of us who loved, and were eventually rejected by those we did love, we have won the red badge of courage. I can't say I like this outcome. I still "love" the one who shot me out of the sky... and I don't feel I am a "victim" of sentimentality. I'm though sad because she still does not realize how much love can do in keeping her stable and collected in the face of the vagaries of life. I still wish she can come to see the light... although, honestly, I don't think she will "bend the knee" because of an often irrational pride and the legacies of a terrible, abusing, criminal father who marked her soul forever. She also does not realize our time on this earth is diminishing steadily... and by the time she might see the light we'll both be very near to crossing the Acheron to land in the underworld. Shame... because she is, among others, a brilliant classicist. And what a waste to boot!
There is a story here to be shared AT. Even if you fictionalize it, it would be good to set it down in writing.
I already have a rather longish piece written... but, believe it or not, I feel really depressed at the mere thought of publishing it. Weird, eh? I still love my ex the same way I always did. Am I a stupid idiot? Perhaps. But the inner workings of the heart are unexplained phenomena... Sad. And more sad. Still, I might take your suggestion at some point. Thank you for your thoughts. Really....
This is very touching to me, mostly because I can relate. I think your dad did love you and have all those feelings you'd wondered if he had. But I also think estranged dads don't know how to come back after a long absence. We think it's as simple as coming back. In his mind it may have been guilt and shame that kept him away.
I never made peace with my estranged father until the day I got a call from some distant relatives that he was on life support and would never come out. So I made the choice to go to the hospital and be there for his last breath. What was interesting to me is that when I showed up, held his comatose hand, and told him it was me, his heart monitor fluctuated significantly. I believe he understood I was there. And I understood what forgiveness felt like.
He was just a lost man who didn't know how to be a dad.
This would make a compelling story if you could write it down and post it, Kristi. Might be good for you. I have to admit my writing is often therapeutic. Though I rarely write first-person accounts, many of my fictions, written in the third person, come directly / indirectly from my own life.
I actually have written it but have never published it. Maybe I should look at it again.
Hey Sharron. What someone doesn't give seems to insure those we love never get the same. Thankful for you, for your mom, for your light and courage. You scatter beautiful leaves everywhere. 🍁
You are such a sweetheart, Ron. Such a wise and kind thing to say. Thank you.
I feel lucky to read your work, Sharron, and hear your stories. Keep shining that light!
Thank you, Justin. I hope you are getting caught up on all your Substack backlog -- reading, comments, notes, etc. It can be overwhelming, can't it!
Thanks, Sharron. It’s easy to fall behind, and it’s difficult to stay on top of things! It sure can be, haha.
How very sad for each of them.
Thank you Janice. I have had a great life. The missing pieces didn't seem to hamper me in any way. We all have a little sadness inside of us.