Here we go. It’s time for some genuine, personal reflection. I recently learned that my father has passed away. While he can’t speak for himself (not that he ever would), this narrative is entirely mine to share. I’m not writing this to hurt anyone’s feelings; rather, it’s an exploration of a complex issue. When a parent dies, it’s often a profound loss. But what happens when that parent is estranged? How do we process grief in such situations?
Background
To give you some background, my parents got married when my mom already had two children from a previous marriage (my sisters), and my dad had one child (my brother). I was born later, in the mid-’70s, which was seen as somewhat unconventional at the time. Because my siblings were significantly older—my closest sister was twelve when I came along—I often felt like an only child. I spent much of my time with my sisters and their families, drawn to the warmth and joy of their children. I don’t recall any specific conflicts between my parents; they simply divorced when I was around nine.
After the divorce, I lived with my mother, who is an incredible person, while my father moved about an hour away to be closer to his family and his car repair shop. My paternal grandparents lived nearby, and I cherished my time with them. I have beautiful memories of our family gatherings, from Easter celebrations to summer adventures in the woods.
Declining Relationship
Initially, I was supposed to spend every other weekend at my dad’s house, but as time went on, our visits diminished. I preferred staying with my beloved grandparents or my aunt and her daughters instead. My dad worked long hours, and while I have a few memories of us spending time together—like learning to shoot a BB gun—I mostly remember him drinking excessively and ignoring me.
One particular weekend stands out. My dad picked me up from my sister’s house, and after a silent car ride, I quietly cried. When we were halfway to his place, he abruptly turned the car around and took me back. He told my sister, “I don’t want her. She cries.” That moment solidified my feelings of being insignificant in his eyes.
Life Events and Disconnection
High school came and went, and though he attended my graduation, it felt more like an obligation than a celebration. When it was time for my wedding, he walked me down the aisle, but his focus was on his new wife and her children rather than on me. I was the first person in my family to graduate from college, but he refused to come to the ceremony, claiming he didn’t want to navigate unfamiliar roads.
Throughout these years, my mother remained supportive, never speaking ill of him. I would still call him on his birthday, despite his absence in my life. Over the years, he became increasingly disconnected, ignoring my children’s births and milestones. I often felt guilty and would reach out, but his visits were rare and uncomfortable.
His Passing
When my cousin informed me of his passing a few weeks ago, I was surprisingly unfazed. Is it wrong to admit that? I didn’t cry; I had already mourned the relationship we never had. He never knew my daughters, never recognized their talents or personalities. And honestly, I was relieved to no longer wonder if he would ever reach out.
What stung the most was reading his obituary, where my children were not mentioned among his surviving family members, yet his wife’s grandchildren were. It felt like our existence was erased. He missed out on knowing some truly wonderful kids.
Reflection
In the end, while the loss of a parent is typically associated with grief, for me, it’s more about the choices he made long ago. The death of an estranged parent forces you to grieve twice: once when the relationship ends and again when they pass away. But I’m not mourning his absence; I’m reflecting on the fact that he chose not to be a part of our lives.
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In summary, dealing with the death of an estranged parent is complicated. It demands a unique kind of reflection and closure that many may not understand. I’ve already grieved this loss long ago.