It's Hard To Explain

I don’t like to talk about it.

When they ask, I usually tell people that he’s no longer in the picture for reasons unknown.

Rather than admit that he didn’t want to be a father.

Because it’s hard to explain to people that I lost a parent because he decided he didn’t want to be one. He didn’t get taken away from me. His heart didn’t stop beating. He just chose not to be.

Because it’s hard to explain that he wanted a life that we couldn’t give him.

Because it’s hard to explain that despite having two beautiful children – one a healer and a mother, the other a globetrotter and a scholar- he chose to be the life of the party instead.

Because it’s hard to explain that after sixteen years someone who was supposed to love me unconditionally found something he loved more.

Because it’s hard to explain that despite our fate I still yearn for the things I associate with him: the rumble of a motorbike under foot, the sound of the Eagles, and the feel of a pool cue between my fingers.

Because it’s hard to explain all the lessons that I learned being the daughter of a man who didn’t want to be a father.

How at five I learned patience watching through the window as he walked down the block to get his morning coffee, uninterested in taking me with him.

At thirteen I learned work ethic at the job I worked after school to ensure that we would both have enough money for lunch that week. At thirteen I had to be the man of the house because he didn’t want to be.

At fourteen I learned how to drive by shakily navigating the dark back roads into town where I would collect him in fear that if I didn’t he would get behind the wheel himself.

At fifteen I learned how to stand up for myself when his friends would make uncomfortable comments and he wouldn’t come to my rescue.

And at sixteen I learned how to leave even when it hurt to.

Because it's hard to explain to people in his life who don't understand why I'm gone that I spent my high school graduation weeping into the arms of my mother during the father-daughter dance because he made a choice not to be there.

That he wasn't there the day I got my heart broken for the first time, my first degree, or the keys to my first home.

Because it's hard to explain that he chose not to be.

Because it’s hard to explain that I’m not sad anymore. That I no longer break up when I see little girls walking through the park with their fathers in hand.

Because it’s hard to explain that I no longer feel anger.

Because it’s hard to explain how despite everything I hope he one day learns how be a father and can be happy in that.

I just wont be welcoming him back as my own.

Because it’s hard to explain to the people who don’t understand why I’m gone that just because we share DNA doesn’t mean he’s entitled to know the person I’ve become

I don’t like to talk about it because it’s hard to explain that he's no longer an important part of my story.