My dad died when I was twenty-one. He never saw his grandchildren. He has fourteen grandchildren now.
My daughters have spent the week with my brother and his family. They won’t come until tomorrow, thereby completely avoiding Father’s Day.
I didn’t get him a card. I did buy him a gift card to Lowe’s, though.
A few years ago, maybe three or four, I made him a rack to hang his baseball caps on when he came home from work. I couldn’t buy him a card then, either. I just made a piece of paper to hang on the rack that said, “To the father of my children. Happy Father’s Day. I love you.” None of the cards fit the situation here; no beautiful Hallmark moments here.
I remember that the year I made him the hat rack I was upset with him about something; I don’t remember what. I remember resenting that I “had” to do something for Father’s Day, when he wasn’t/isn’t even really a father.
And now his daughters won’t even speak to him.
This has nothing to do with Father’s Day. This is just my life.
I feel insane. I just feel crazy. I feel like my life is meaningless, that it is going nowhere, that I have no purpose.
All I wanted when I was growing up was to be a wife and a mother.
Yes, I am still a mother, but my girls are grown and almost grown. I think I have a pretty good relationship with them, but more and more they are on their own. I’ll always be a mother, but it’s kind of different now.
And the wife thing. Not. Fail.
All I feel is emptiness. Loneliness. Unloved. Unlovable. Unloving.
I don’t know who I am anymore. All I ever wanted was to love and to be loved. To love someone special and to be loved by someone special. Was that even there in the beginning of the marriage? I loved him. I gave him everything I could, everything I knew how to.
I remember feeling like something was missing, even in the first year of our marriage, and telling myself that he was still young (we were twenty-one), that he just needed time to mature. Still waiting on that.
I used to joke that I had three children. I guess it wasn’t a joke. Or maybe it was a joke.
Did he ever love me? He thought he did. He thinks he does now. He tells me he loves me.
All I feel is emptiness.