Yesterday was the father’s Birthday. I didn’t think about it all day, because I was too busy. Last night before I went to bed, I noticed the date on the computer and realized it.
I turned to Hubby and told him that I didn’t notice it was Oct. 12. He asked why it mattered, and I said it’s the father’s Birthday.
Hubby asked me why I cared. That question stopped me in my tracks. I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because no matter what a parent does to us, there’s something in us that still cares, maybe even loves them, and most of all longs for something different.
I contemplated Hubby’s question for a while. I was picturing in my mind, being able to pick up the phone and call him to wish him a Happy Birthday, to sit around the table as a happy healthy family and sing “Happy Birthday” to him. I wanted to watch him blow out his candles, and enjoy his cake. I wanted to see him open his presents.
I wish he knew that I don’t forget…
Why do I care? I think it’s because I’m not him. I think because I know they were all making the father king yesterday, and we all know how much narcissistic/sociopath love to be made king. I wonder if they even thought about me, yet I know if they did it would be in the form of judging me for not calling or being there. It wouldn’t be that they miss me. That hurts my heart.
No matter how much I recover, not having my family in my life will never stop hurting.
I wish it were different, and I wish they could see what I see. I wish they would stop blaming me. I wish denial was wiped out.
I know however this is not to be, and I must grab hold of the good things in my life, and hang on tight. For those I’m grateful.
It doesn’t mean I won’t stop longing for my parents, I don’t think we ever do.
Has abuse robbed you of your family? If so how do you deal with it?
There is hope!