Tear Drops and Powerpuff Girls

     I knew this day was coming.  I've known it from the moment my daughter's blue body came out of mine that I would have to watch my child cry over the absence of a male presence in her life.  Today was the second day this has happened, and  honestly, I've barely made it through.

     On the way to school, Haven told me that some 'things' have been bothering her.  She reached out to her father six months ago and has not heard back from him.  This has weighed heavier on her mind than what I originally thought.        

     It's pretty evident that I am not the only single mother on the planet.  I know I am not the only person that has had a baby at a young age.   I am sure that many mothers have had to watch their children suffer, and I am sure it is equally as painful.   But to wound my child, well, I do not take that lightly, and it just might be something I never forgive myself for.   I have wounded her by a decision my parents and I made when I was an 18 year old girl.

     We managed to skate by 'daddy issues' during her early childhood.  She was not heavily plagued with questions from school aged friends.  No-one really asked, "Why don't you have a Dad," or, "Where is your Dad?"  Her friends didn't seem to care, nor did she.   Mostly, this was because I had a father who relished being the 'stand in,' and welcomed Haven as his own.   He did things with her that most fathers do with their daughters.  He took her fishing, hunting, swimming and of course, golfing.  He even crawled around on his knees so that she could ride him like a pony.  He read her books, listened when she talked, and made her feel like the special little girl that she is.  He did every thing with her that he did with me.  My father was a blessing and Haven loved him immensely.

     When he died, I broke Haven's heart for the first time.  My mother offered to tell Haven of his passing, but I would not let information of that magnitude come from anyone other than me.  I will not tell you about the look on my daughter's face the moment my words registered for her.  I will not tell you about the scream that left her body.  It is a private hell that is meant for only me.   Her reaction, though expected, would be the first time I caused a horrific hole in her heart. I did not cause my father's death, but telling a seven year old that kind of news, makes me feel as if I did.

     As I listened to Haven this morning, our life together went into a hyper rewind.  Our lives didn't flash before my eyes, but came to me in old movies.  I remembered the things I smelled when I was pregnant with her, and the way she smelled coated with baby lotion.  I remembered how she never slept in a crib, but up next to me, and did this until she was 12 years old.  I remembered her as a three year old, and taking her to get her nails done.  I remembered the time my Dad walked in on us having 'Dance Party USA' in the living room, and him joining in.  I remembered what a fast runner she was at the age of six, and how she always beat the boys.  I remembered our favorite meal in our first brand new house.  I remembered her struggle with dyslexia.  I remembered letting her leave Hawaii when all I wanted her to do was stay. 

     I wont get into what her father is and what he isn't.  I could only tell you what he isn't, anyway, and that would not be helpful to my daughter.  But what I did tell her this morning is something that my father told me as a 20 year old when I was struggling with the absence of her father.

     I told her, "Why are you worried about the one person that does not love you when there are so many people that do?"  And she said back to me, "Because it sucks."  Those were the exact three words I said to my father all of those years ago.

     I went on to tell her, "Believe me, when you get older, you will face every decision you make.  The decisions you make now will ultimately be decisions that you will deal with the rest of your life.  The difference is in how you handle the outcomes."  She was listening, and I continued on.  I told her that it will show the type of person she is if she is able to apologize to those who are affected by her decisions. 

     If you think about it, growing up and owning up to your failings is much like a 12-step program.  Some people silently acknowledge their mistakes, while others make amends.  She asked me if I thought her father would ever apologize to her for his absence, and the truth is, I don't know.  My hope is that he does because Haven deserves it.

     But, I also owe Haven an apology.  I made a decision 16 years ago that has wounded her today, and for that, I am sorry.  There is nothing that I could ever say to her to take away what she is feeling, and for that, I am sorry.

     As she got out of the car, I told her that being her mother was the best thing I've ever done.  I didn't let her see me cry.  I waited until she had turned around and walked away.