By Her View From Home 
I wonder if it will ever go away—that incessant longing for something that doesn’t exist. Something that is supposed to be natural, the most natural human bond of all: a father’s love.
I’m pushing 40. I am married with kids of my own.
I should be over the longing for a father. I should be fine with being an independent adult.
But the truth is, I’m not.
It still hurts being left on “read” on WhatsApp.
It still hurts when I finally do get a response to whatever it was I wanted to share with him, and that response is “I’m busy.”
It still hurts when he doesn’t show any emotion, any interest in me, my life or my children.
It stabs through my heart when he doesn’t care when I share how hurt I am from his lack of communication.
I can count on one hand the number of times he has seen his grandkids.
When I see my cousins and how their fathers dote on them and their children, it hurts. I’m happy for them, event though they don’t even know just how lucky they are. But . . . it hurts.
When all I long to hear are words of encouragement, words from my father’s mouth that sound like, “Hey kid, I am proud of you,” or, “I love you,” but knowing I will never get to hear that . . . it hurts.
And even though I am almost 40, I still don’t understand why.
Why has he thrown me away? Growing up in a difficult home, the object of my mother’s obsessive hatred, I thought my dad was my safe place.
It was us against the world.
The few moments I was awake and he was home, I remember them fondly.
Warped memories, no doubt . . . my head knows he never wanted me, not even back then. My head knows he was waiting for the day I would turn 18, and a few months shy of that, he left. And never looked back.
My head knows I annoyed him when I got up at 4 a.m. to make him a Nutella or cheese sandwich for breakfast and sit at the table with him in the silent darkness to keep him company before he went off to work.
I didn’t want him to start his day lonely. I wanted to be there for him. I wouldn’t see him again until I was likely already sent to bed. And all he wanted was to sneak out and smoke in peace.
My head knows. But my silly heart just doesn’t want to understand.
My head knows I should let him go. And I’m trying. I deleted his number so I don’t get tempted to text. I silence the inquiries in my head that wonder if he’s happy. Was it worth replacing me with another instant family? Is he happy to be working 24/7 in dangerous conditions at 70+ years of age to sustain his new, younger wife’s lifestyle?
Does he know how often I still cry when he crosses my mind?
I can’t share this pain with anyone. Nobody understands. I get the same responses each time: “You’re a grown woman now. You’re an adult, focus on your own little family. Parents and children grow apart, that’s normal. Get over it.”
I know.
But it still hurts.
by Connie Cumming 
