By Her View From Home 
Another recital has come and gone, but you were not there. Another birthday, another Christmas, another milestone you have missed. She still notices your absence but doesn’t mention it. She no longer asks if her grandparents are coming over for her party or for Thanksgiving dinner. She still thinks of you though, and sometimes her eyes fill with tears when she asks me if you still love her.
When I thought about having children, I had so many hopes and dreams. So many of those involved loving, doting grandparents, big family get-togethers, holiday dinners, vacations. Then somehow, those hopes got squashed and the dreams faded. Any attempts to bring you closer have only been met with backlash. So many harsh words have been spoken. The gap between us is now immeasurable.
Your decision to self-isolate puzzles the family. Everyone keeps asking why and what happened. Don’t you miss us? Don’t you want to be part of the family—your family? Why aren’t we good enough? What’s wrong with us? What’s wrong with you?
I’ve struggled through this for several years now. Watching you, little by little, separate yourself from the world, from us. It started so gradually . . . the reluctance to agree to a time to meet up for holidays, pushing back on babysitting opportunities, dodging questions, avoiding replying to text messages. I would bend over backward to make things easier for you. Offer to do the cooking, the hosting. Don’t want to drive? Then we can bring food to you. But then it became more targeted to get me to back off. Criticisms thrown out. Insults and insinuations that left me gasping. And also furious.
I’ve battled all the emotions: anger, despair, guilt, regret, shame. Who doesn’t spend time with their mother on Mother’s Day? See their father on Father’s Day? It’s taken a lot of time on the therapist’s couch to finally start to accept, to realize I can’t force changes, and I can’t change your behavior.
So I keep moving forward. My husband and I do our best to nurture our little family and provide our daughter with the best life possible. But we’ve also stopped sugar-coating the truth. We no longer protect you. She understands that this is your decision, and we can’t change that.
We try to fill your void as best as we can. Our walls display many family adventures—trips to Disney, weeks at the beach, fun at the park—but it can’t completely replace you. I wonder if someday you might change your mind, realize you want to be part of our lives again. I don’t know if I can forgive you. I don’t know if she can forgive you. I also worry that someday you might be gone, and the last words we spoke were in anger.
But I can’t try anymore. I have nothing left to give. I can’t keep the door open, hoping someday you’ll want to come back through. At best, I’ll leave the path clear so you can knock on the door. Maybe we’ll answer it.
by Emma Wilson 
