A Broken Family

Waking up without her there in the house was the most unfamiliar sensation. I ached for her snappy retorts and sly remarks. And the sparkle in her eye when she told a joke at our dinner table. I missed the aroma of her dollar store perfume, the one she assured me was just as good as the expensive brand. I listened for the sound of her skirts sweeping against the linoleum kitchen floors early in the morning. It was no longer there. I knew I would never see her again. At least not in that life. The day my mother passed, I withdrew from the world, completely numb. I didn't cry because I didn't want to believe she was gone yet. My mother was the rock that kept me grounded. It was just her and me in this world, at least after my father left. I should've spent more time with her. I should've told her, reminded her every day, how much I loved her. How grateful I was for everything she did for me. But it was too late for that. In the weeks after she passed, time felt like it was moving slower than molasses. Her room stayed shut. I didn't want to go in there. I didn't want to accept the fact that I had no one left. My father didn't show up at the funeral, just like I had expected. Just like the way he didn't show up for anything back when I was in school. The last time I heard from him was on my eighteenth birthday. I got a letter saying happy birthday and congratulations on my upcoming graduation. Plus 50 bucks. He thought you could solve any problem by throwing money at it. In my opinion, he was wrong. Giving me money doesn't change the fact that he left my mom and me for another woman. However, I didn't like being alone. 

I left for Goldsboro, North Carolina, three and a half weeks after my mother's death. That was the return address on the birthday card from my father. Despite telling myself that it would be fine, I was terrified. The last time I had seen him was when I was ten. When he walked out, leaving my mother heartbroken. I knew that even though they didn't have a perfect relationship, my mom tried hard to make him happy. She tried to make everyone happy. That was another thing about my mother. She put every single person she met before herself. I'd always strived to take care of her, but once she got an idea in her head, she never stopped working to achieve that goal. Right up until she passed away, she was volunteering at the food bank for hours on end, always on her feet, even after a long day at work. She never ceased to amaze me. 

When I reached my father's house, I sat in the car for almost an hour, psyching myself out about it. I wasn't sure if I should go in or turn back around. I was scared to speak to him. I had never reached out to him, following my mother's instructions to me. But it was hard growing up without a father figure in my life. Especially having him there for the first ten years and suddenly being left with just my mom. I loved my mom, no doubt, but she couldn't represent two parents by herself. 

Finally, though, I gathered the courage to go up to the front door. I told myself that if no one answered, I would go home. Simple as that. But after not even one knock, the door opened. And there stood my father. The years he'd spent without us had not been kind to him physically, but he was the same man. He had never been very tall, and there, standing in front of him, we were eye to eye. He stared at me curiously, as if inspecting a painting for the first time. I met his gaze. Only then did he realize who I was. We had the same eyes, a soft blue, like faded azure lace. The only difference was that his eyes were bloodshot and weary, clearly from a lack of sleep. Fine lines decorated his face. 

"I heard about Nancy," he whispered. 

Tears blurred my vision. "Why didn't you come?" 

"Jules, I'm sorry,"

"Why didn't you come?" I asked again, my voice breaking. "Why?"

"Come in, let's talk somewhere more private,"

I stepped into the house, following his lead. He escorted me into an office and shut the door. 

"What do you need, Julia?" he asked, the tone of his voice harsher than before. "You're nineteen. Why are you here?"

We talked for almost an hour, and I learned more about my father than I ever had. Although he had changed a lot, he was still similar to the man I remembered. When I was little, he would braid my hair and tell me bedtime stories. He would pick me up and clean my cuts after I fell off my bicycle. He was still a caring man. The only difference was that it didn't seem like I was the one he cared for anymore. 

I could tell by the way he talked about his wife and son that he had moved on. He had met her at a bar, and they dated for a year before he proposed. They then had a baby boy, who was now almost six. I was happy for him. But I wanted my dad back. I had waited nine years for him to come back home, for him to be there for me again. But I knew that I wasn't his little girl anymore. I wasn't his at all. He had forgotten about me and moved on to taking care of his new family. 

When my father left, I still had my mother take care of me. But most days, I took care of her. She was so lost after he left. I had to mature much faster than most kids my age. Looking back on it, I wish I had taken more time to relax and have fun. Of course, I couldn't change the past. But I could still change the future. 

"Did you ever miss me?"

My father sighed. It took him a minute to get his words together. "I did, Julia. I missed you so much. I tried writing to you, but I could never send anything. Nancy would kill me. After I left, she told me not to come back. She told me that I had hurt our family enough already. So I tried to move on. But you're my daughter. You always will be," he reached for my hand. "I love you, Jules. I know that the past nine years couldn't have been easy for you. I'm sorry, I couldn't be there for you. But I want you to know that you will always be my girl. You will always have a home here. I will always be here for you,"

I missed him. I longed for the idea that I could have him back in my life. But it seemed too good to be true. He hadn't answered my main question. I took a deep breath and asked him the one question he had avoided that whole time. "Why did you leave us?"