Missing My Absent Father

Father’s Day weekend just passed and it always leaves me feeling a little melancholy. My father died a few weeks before my wedding, almost 10 years ago. He didn’t get to see me in my dress, walk me down the aisle or share a dance at the reception. But when I think about my dad, I am less sad about all these moments he missed after his death, like my wedding day and meeting my children and I am more heartbroken about all the things he missed while he was still alive.

Me on my wedding day.

Hunter S. Thompson wrote that “you can’t miss what you never had” but my relationship with my father is defined by this sentiment. The feeling of missing something you never had is called “anemoia.” When I think about my father, more than anger or disappointment, anemoia is the most acute and profound sensation.

My parents divorced when I was around two years old. My older sister and I had scheduled visits with our father from then on. When each of us turned 12 and could legally opt out of them, the visits became less frequent. During our scheduled visits, he would regularly have us spend the weekend at his office, sitting around while he worked or worse, drop us off with a relative, friend or girlfriend that I barely knew. It was clear to me from an early age that he was more interested in working, dating or doing pretty much anything other than spending time with me.

Me around preschool.

In the past, I felt angry and blamed him for much of the emotional baggage I still lug around as an adult. With therapy and life experience, I have learned to release almost all of that. In a sad way, I believe he may have done the best he could. Now, having children of my own, any resentment I may have felt has dissipated and instead, I feel sorry for him. He never got to know the real joy of parenting. Moreover, he never really got to know me, and while certainly not perfect, I’m pretty great.

When he died, I mourned whatever semblance of a relationship we had – the sporadic phone calls, occasional dinners and generic gifts. More than that, I mourned the fantasy of all the things we never had – genuine bonding, deep conversation, inside jokes, family vacations and more generally, love and support. I miss his scratchy beard and clever quips but more than anything, I miss the thing I never had, a real father.

My father with me as a baby.

My purpose in sharing openly about our relationship is not to embarrass or punish him (or his memory). I am purposefully not airing all of his dirty laundry in a public forum, just sharing some of my thoughts and reflections as I grow and heal. He was imperfect, he said and did things that hurt me and people I love and I simply refuse to prioritize other people's feelings or preserve a legacy over expressing myself. How can we do better if we don’t acknowledge past problems? I hope that anyone else that has experienced a complicated version of loss and grief knows that there should be no shame in acknowledging and sharing those feelings. In losing my father, I experienced the bizarre dichotomy of anemoia and learned that you can certainly miss something you never had.