No More Father's Day (for me)

My sister was 26 and I was 24 back in 1978. We both still lived in Houston but not near our parents home. They had their own lives. We had ours. It was noon on a Sunday when I got the phone call. From my 55 year-old mother. She had returned home from church.

"He's gone. I think he's left me. His closet is empty and he's ... just gone."

My sister had just gotten the same phone call. We both rushed to Mom's house as soon as we could. He had indeed left. As it turned out, he had left and moved in with Mom's best friend, from church. A woman 20 years younger. A woman who had just gotten divorced. A woman with a young child.

Up until that day, my Dad and I were great friends. We did things together; always had. He had always supported me in whatever I chose to do. He put me through college. He never judged me for a moment when I came out of the closet. I am very grateful for those first 24 years with him.

The next year-and-a-half, he put my mother through Hell. Pure Hell. He had never allowed her to work because he wanted a stay-at-home housewife. When he filed for divorce, he tried to take almost everything. He left her the house and a car. That equaled to about 1/10th of the estate they had put together during their 37 year marriage.

Before the divorce became final, my Mom had a nervous breakdown. She had to be hospitalized for weeks. Even though I was a practicing alcoholic by then, I knew enough to fight back. Someone had to protect her and I was forced to "take sides". We hired a better divorce lawyer and fought. When it was all said and done, she got about 80% of everything.

That was 26 years ago. I have seen him twice (both times accidentally). We said hello to each other and not much else. When I stopped drinking and worked through the steps of AA with my sponsor, I became able to let go of my deep-rooted resentments of my father. I wrote him a short letter, explaining my current situation and the reason for writing. An amends of sorts. I owned my part in the estrangement. He wrote back with an offer to meet sometime if I ever wanted to. I still have no desire to know that man. He's a different person than the man who raised me those first 24 years. He's 82 now and married (again) for 25 years and has his own life. I wish him nothing but the best for the remainder of his days.

I have done the right thing to the fullest extent that I possibly can.
Progress not perfection.