Another trip down Memory Lane...

 ... but this time: it's the route I never take.


 This week Judy at Retired not Tired has asked us to write our memories about our dad.

Okay, here are mine.


http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a3/AEC_blank_page.png


 My biological father left us.   Or, maybe he was asked to leave; I don't know.     I just know he was gone.   I don't even really know the why's.    Other than talk when adults thought I wasn't listening.

Talk about tempers and alcohol.     A violent combination I am sure; but thankfully was too young to remember anything that might have happened.

Oh!   Except you know when he was convicted of a major crime and sentenced to 10 years in jail.
I remember that news announcement during class quite vividly.
Really, who could ever forget that their dad was the guy who drank himself drunk, then drove his truck .... and hit and killed a little boy.

the sins of the father...

That's my biggest memory of my dad.   That's my biggest fear about  my dad.    That this thing that had a hold of him, may also lurk deep inside me.    That it is the only thing he may have passed on to me.   Because I don't remember hugs, or father/daughter talks, or walks in the park:  there weren't any.

I don't even have a picture of him.   He could live next door: and I wouldn't know him.

You know, it's a strange sadness.    Because there are no memories to watch fade and slip away.
There's just ...  Nothing.
And how do you miss, or mourn... Nothing?

And yet, it is rather like a living wound that will never quite heal.    Even now.
It stretches and pulls, but never quite cuts anew.
It's just always there.    A reminder that something in me once was broken.

And as I have grown and raised children of my own.  Children who have a wonderful father.
I learned something lately:   that the absence of my father, though something I eventually have come to terms with, taught me something that was much harder to "get over."

In his leaving and staying gone:  he taught me how to live without him.
A male presence was never anything that was important, or necessary to me.

And yet all my life, it was an amazing and powerful thing, how the absence of him, could fill a room.

 photo buttonw1.jpg

About The Author
Leslie Botchar, aka "RoryBore", is a SAHM enjoying life one day - and one cup of coffee - at at time.
She has had several articles published in The Huffington Post, and hopes to one day marry her skills as Word Wrangler and Photo Ninja. Leslie spills it all on her blog Time Out For Mom, and invites you to join her for some Mom "Me" Time.
Connect with her: Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram.