Beyond The Stars: A Father's Day Blog

"Dad, wherever you are, you are gone but you will never be forgotten." ~ Conrad Hall

Good morning; afternoon; and evening friends and fans! Namasté. 🧘🏽‍♀️ The hardest part about Father's Day - and the hardest part about grief in general - is that it doesn't come with a neat instruction manual. People talk about losing a parent as a sudden, devastating event. But for those of us whose fathers were absent, emotionally distant, or only sporadically in our lives, the grief is an entirely different beast.

I didn't my biological father, Dionisio, until I was 10 years old at my sister's Sweet Sixteen in August 1993. From that point on, he was in and out of my life. I remember being in junior high, carefully picking out birthday cards, and sending them off with a child's hopeful heart. Nothing ever came in return. He never sent me a single birthday card. To some, that might sound like a small thing, but the pain of taking the time to search for a card - and receiving complete silence - cuts deep in ways people rarely understand.

I did receive Christmas cards from him over the years. I still have them, though I honestly couldn't tell you if those childhood birthday cards I sent even exist anymore. In those quiet, reflective moments, I used to wonder if things would have been different. If I had been born a boy, perhaps he would have stayed? These are the lingering questions that dance through your head when an absentee parent is no longer around to answer them.

Dionisio passed away from a brain aneurysm in 2014. When I first got the news, I didn't cry. The tears only came later, and they were fueled by a volatile mix of anger, rejection, and abandonment. Now that time has passed, those sharp edges have softened into a quiet regret that I didn't try to keep in touch with him after 2011. I wish I had more pictures of him while he was alive. I wish I could look back and find the good, to anchor my memories in something tangible.

For a long time, I made a conscious choice. I never wanted to be a mom because I was terrified of passing the same trauma and abandonment down to my children. Life, however, has a funny and sometimes painful way of making its own plans. I ended up pregnant at age 26 as a result of rape. From that darkness came my son. He is on the autism spectrum, but fortunately, he is verbal and highly functional.

Now, I face an entirely new layer of pain. Watching my son grow up without a father figure is a challenge I never wanted him to navigate. It brings the cycle full circle, making me confront my own childhood wounds while trying to protect his.

Healing from an absence that existed long before his death - and continues long after it - is going to take a long time. There is no quick fix for a father-shaped void. But by acknowledging the pain, speaking my truth, and writing this down, I am taking the first steps forward. It is okay to mourn the relationship you had, as well the relationship you deserved.

Blessed be,

Jennifer