I always knew my relationship with my father was going to end. One way or another, he was not going to be in my life after a certain point. I had decided, that I was going to pull away from him, and then when I left for Korea for the first time, that was going to be the end. I was going to say goodbye, and it was going to be goodbye for forever. Even though I would be coming back. I was going to take advantage of that moment to get him out once and for all. It was going to be on my terms, and I had come to terms with it, that that was going to be the end of my relationship with my father.
But once again, he decided that it was going to be on his terms and there was no other choice to be had, besides the one he had already decided on.
He decided that his and my mother's fractured and separated marriage was over, even though my mom gave him other options. He took the out she gave him, no matter how narrow and implied it was. He took it and ran with it. He set in motion things that affected all of us, without even caring how hard it was for us. He went for his happiness, even though it devastated me.
And he's always done that. His happiness was always more important than mine was. He wasn't ready to be a father, so he checked out and only came in to say hello every few days. He lived there, with us, but he was gone, doing his own thing, all the time, because that's what he wanted. And what we wanted didn't even begin to cross his mind. He decided that I was my mom's responsibility, because he didn't want me to be his burden. Because that's what I've always been to him. A burden to be shouldered. A problem to be dealt with.
What I wanted never mattered, because it revealed that he had made a mistake, a lot of them, actually. He wasn't aware until it was too late, that I grew up without him. He figured a teenager was easier to be a parent to, because they don't need the constant attention and energy children do. He thought he could come in and everything would be perfect. He was ready to be a father, but neglected to keep up enough with my progress to realize that I had grown to hate him. Checking in to say hello every few days doesn't mean he was there. And he didn't want to be a father to a damaged child, to one who wanted him to take responsibility for his absence, to one who was fully aware of what he'd done, or hadn't done. He wanted to come in and be worshiped like his friends' kids did to them. He wanted the father's day presents of ties and golf balls, he wanted the 'No. 1 Dad' cups and the cute selfies at the racetrack. I wanted that too, but I also wanted him to say he was sorry for leaving me.
I wanted him to realize how painful it was to see my mother toil day after day, night after night, working two jobs to support herself and me; to see her fall asleep at the dinner table mid-sentence after working all day on three hours of sleep because I'd had a nightmare or a stomachache the night before and needed her; to want to tell someone all about my day and my friends and my crush, but have no one but an empty house to come home to; to cook and eat dinner all by myself every night. I wanted him to understand and feel sorry for every moment of pain my mom and I went through, but he didn't. He wanted to waltz in and be the best dad, while still keeping his party life style, but failed to realize that that required work.
I don't know how he doesn't realize that the love comes after the sacrifice. You get the father's days after you sit up with a kid when they've had a nightmare, after you've kissed their scraped knees, wiped their tears after a heartbreak, if he had done even one of those things, or even attempted to do something similar to anything fatherly related, I would have welcomed him with open arms. But he didn't, so I didn't, I wanted an apology for all the times he missed out on and didn't come through on and he refused. I fought with him, demanding an apology, so he began hitting me. He hit me, telling me it was to make me normal, so I would appreciate him, appreciate that he had come back, because he never wanted to. And because I wasn't willing to accept him without an apology, I wasn't worth the time or energy. Once again. He thought it was unfair that I didn't want him anymore, not realizing how unfair he'd already been to me.
He only wants the easy way out. My mom wanted him to work on their issues, so he divorced her. I wanted him to admit he was a deadbeat, so he took off for good.
I knew the time I was going to say goodbye to my father for good. But he decided to take off on his own once again, and didn't include me on his plans until the very end. I was given ten days to get out. And then I was given two choices: I could keep seeing my father every few days for five minutes, and watch him party it up and sleep around, or I could be totally kicked out of my family and never spoken of again. I wasn't bankable, or worth something, or usable in any way anymore, so I had to be removed.
He took so much from me: my innocence, my childhood, my mother's time, and now he had taken the end of our relationship from me. I didn't even get to end it on my terms, and leave him, he left me once again. He stole that from me as well. The unfairness and irony of it all is staggering. I mourn the father I never got to have, the childhood that was stolen from me, the familial happiness I never got to have. I feel like the dad I always wanted and needed has died, and in a way he has. He has died, because my father will never be him, and has never wanted to be him. I say goodbye to him with difficulty, because I've held out hope that he'll show up one day. I mourned him when I decided to leave my father behind for good and now I mourn him even more because his death came so unexpectedly early.
