15 years 11 months and 23 hours. That’s how long I waited for him. Waited not because I didn’t have anything better to do, or that I didn’t want to move on with my life, but because it was subconscious. Ingrained in my DNA to want him. I just needed to fill that hole inside of me with what should never have left.
Mostly I would hear stories from friends saying: ” He bought me a new teddy bear, or we are going on vacation or he scolded me about a boy that came to visit last night. ”
I always wanted that you know? — The presents, the love, even the scolding was good enough for me. But I never got any.
On my last birthday, I wished for him to come. Even if it was for just a moment. A stroll in the park, a quick lunch or even a movie at home, but he never did. I only got a phone call at 9pm . “Happy Birthday sweetheart”. He said, sounding rather distracted and invested in something else other than the call he was making . “I love you and I’m so so sorry I couldn’t be around for you. Promise to come see you very soon.” That was almost a year ago.
“Don’t worry honey, everything would be alright. You’ll see. ” My mom would often say but with a look of sadness coupled with resignation. She always made me feel better afterwards. Doing a lot more than she should in order for me not to miss or mention him.
She was a beautiful woman once but with the amount of weight on her shoulder, she is aging so fast i could barely recognize her sometimes. It’s too bad I’m beginning to feel numb to the pain though. The sadness is slowly ebbing away and i don’t feel disappointed with the little messages I get from him. His absence has built a wall around my heart. Little by little he stacked it up over the years. And my heart seems to be colder as the days go by.
And as I look at him observing the not so little girl he thought I was over the years, clearly surprised at much I’ve grown, it dawned on me that the years have created for me a pigeonhole, that any man who tries to get close might suffer because of the man I called my father.