I envy people who have heart pain because their father’s have died.
That may sound strange, but to me if you hurt from the loss, then you’ve had a love I know nothing about.
I read all the things people write on facebook to their dad’s alive and dead and wonder what it would feel like to have those feelings.

Recently it was Father’s Day and there were so many tributes to dads.
Again, I wondered.

I don’t usually allow the imaginary steel door that’s hidden away somewhere in my being to open.
It slammed closed many years ago and shields me from the things I can’t forget.
I like it that way but every great now and then…..not too often, I wonder.

My very first memory of him…..that’s what I called my father “him,” was the night he was beating my mom at the top of a spiral staircase.
I tried to save her.
I was four or five years old.
I had a horrid scab on my little arm from a smallpox vaccination in preparation for kindergarden.
He grabbed me and threw me down that staircase and in doing so, he ripped the smallpox scab off my arm.
The next day my little body was purple with bruises from the fall.
I remember being so concerned about that scab.
I searched the steps and found it.
I wanted my mom to put it back on my arm.
I thought I wouldn’t be able to go to school without it.

When I turned thirteen, he began calling me c*nt.
(It’s a nasty word to write and I don’t want to offend anyone so I left out the vowel and figured you’d get the idea.)
I didn’t know what that meant.
One day I asked my girlfriend.
She didn’t know either.
We went across the alley to her house.
She called her mom into the kitchen and then told me to ask her mom.
I did.
Her mom’s face looked startled but in the most decent, simple of biological terms, she told me.
That’s what he called me all my teen-aged years.

I was always afraid to leave the house when he had a day off.
I was afraid he’d hurt my mom.

One night when I came home from a date, my mom was sitting in the living room in the dark.
I turned on a light.
Blood was running from her ear and she was missing a front tooth.
I got down on the floor and searched for her tooth and had a flashback of the little girl looking for her vaccination scab.

Each day AND NIGHT of the nineteen years I lived in “that house,” was a nightmare because of him.
I keep the “memories” hidden, behind the steel door.

I’m aware that my childhood was WAY not the worst that many have experienced.
I don’t like to even think of the abuse that happens to the silent, unknown, countless women and children.
All I’m sure of is, there’s way more than many of us realize who can’t send Happy Father’s Day cards once a year.
There’s a lot of us who’ve never felt the hug or kiss from a “dad,” who’ve never sat on a lap, who’ve never had a piggy-back ride or felt safety in his arms, never heard the words, I LOVE YOU.

I read about your loss and your heart pain.
I see the tributes you write and the photos you post.
As life goes, you’ll never stop missing or loving but the pain should lessen enough that you’ll be able to smile, even laugh when you remember your dad.

If you’re fortunate enough to have been able to send your dad a Happy Father’s Day card and mean all the lovely words written in verse, I hope you cherish him and not just on Father’s Day ‘cause Hallmark says to but everyday.

If you had a dad who’s gone but left you with so much love that your heart hurts well, again…..I envy your pain.