I spent the last two (almost three!) days with my dad, and it was wonderful.
I love being able to say that. Four years ago, I wouldn’t have even mumbled it.
The past 15 years have been rough for both of us. I know it sucked for him, because spending quality time with my sister and me was very rare for him. And when he finally did get a few moments with us, we were just plain mean.
You see, 15 years ago this summer, my parents divorced. My sister and I moved to Alabama with my mom. My dad didn’t come with us. I’d cry at night, wondering what was happening and when I would see my daddy again (I was a complete daddy’s girl).
At some point I began to despise him. I hated him for leaving me. I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t want me. My 7-year-old brain couldn’t comprehend that my dad wasn’t trying to dispose me from his life. And, even more so, I had no idea it wasn’t my battle to fight. So, for at least 11 years, I fought. I fought hard.
Now, 15 years later, I finally understand that whatever happened between my parents should stay between them. Knowing it’s not my battle has helped me fix my relationship with my dad. It’s still a work in progress and probably will be for years to come (I know I can’t fix 15 years of hurt overnight). But, as weird as this would seem to my former self, I’m actually enjoying it.
Though I sometimes am curious as to what actually went down 15 years ago, I don’t think I really want to know. I love both of my parents and don’t want to know who started what or who said what nasty thing to the other. All I need to know is that they love me back, and that is something I am very sure of.
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