Another Dad-less Father's Day

Here we are again.

Father's Day.

My children... still without their earthly father in their lives.

I thought it would get easier, going through yet another Father's Day with my children longing for their dad, but somehow this year was harder.

Their dad was "around" last year for Father's Day, sort of.  He had spent roughly six months seeing them multiple times a month after a year-and-a-half-ish disappearance.  But by Father's Day, he was slowly fading out again.

It's now been nearly a year since the kids have seen or heard from their dad.  I am holding onto hope that progress is being made, after finally talking with their dad again, that they will see him again soon, and that he will be a positive in their lives.  But, when you've had your trust violated hundreds of times by the same person, even when you believe with your whole soul that God can and does perform miracles, and can redeem anything and everything, you're very skeptical and guarded even when things seem they may turn around.

This year, the children are all older, obviously, and each one of them understanding Father's Day now, makes it harder on them.  In turn, it's harder on the mom who is also pulling the weight of the dad.

This morning, we woke up for church, the kids were excited as they are every Sunday.  Then, the oldest mentioned it was Father's Day.  The middle one laid back down with the covers over his face and proclaimed he was sad.  He missed his daddy.  He never sees his daddy, and his daddy is rude because his daddy doesn't make good choices.  I never have told them any details of their dad's abandonment or betrayals, just that he's not making good choices.  I started crying, unable to hold back tears, and told them all how sorry I was that their dad is still not making the choices that lead him back to them, and that I know they miss him, and that I miss him being in their lives too.  We regrouped and moved happily on to church.

While at daycare, the children made their gifts for me, or for their Papa.  They were all thrilled to do so.

At Sunday School this morning, two out of three of them made pictures for their dads.  It was either an oversight or perhaps the teacher had no idea.  The kids handled it well, though.

I sobbed at church.  I often cry, because worship moves my soul like that.  But today, I just felt the pain my children have been expressing over the past week.  I have been weighed down with their burden, knowing that I cannot understand what it must feel like to be rejected by their dad.  I cannot imagine being so young, and feeling like my dad doesn't care enough about me to see me.  Or call me.  Or send a card.  I just cannot wrap my mind around that, and to know they have pain I can't understand breaks my heart.

They're all so strong, though.  Truly.

At daycare on Friday, someone kept asking my oldest son repeatedly, "Is your dad even gonna be there for Father's Day?"  My son said nothing.  He was so strong.

The message was obviously themed around fatherhood, fathers of all kinds, including spiritual fathers.  I am so blessed to be able to look around the sanctuary, right around my own seat, and see men who have stepped up as spiritual fathers in my childrens' lives.  God placed me in the perfect church for my children for that reason.  They are loved there.

The message was hard, though, as I sat, knowing that their dad was somewhere across town, not embracing his God given role to be a father to his own children.  I felt the burden of a father, pulling as much as I can of the weight of both roles.  But I'm not a father.  I'm a mother doing as much as she can in the absence of a father.  It's obviously not the same.  I wept.  I'm so grateful for the support I have in church, as my dear friend whispered she had already placed tissues under my chair, because she knew it was going to be a hard day for me.  That's love.

We came home, and the kids all were silent for a while.  We talked about missing their dad again. They watched a cartoon and I hid in my room for a bit, crying again, just thinking about how much they miss him, and how I hope with all my heart he will follow through and be reunited with them.

I decided that we would leave and enjoy the park and the sunshine and fresh air, laughter and memories together, because we are good at that.  But, of course, being Father's Day, the park was filled with big gatherings and lots of kids with their dads.  My children noticed too, and we each had separate moments together under the tree where I filled them with God's Truth about who they are, their value, and my love for them.  Every single one of them told me I was the best mom in the whole world and that they loved me so much.  And I stopped crying.  Because I knew they were really okay, even though they were hurting.

Because God's got us, as he always does.

But, like I said, this year was harder.  I also believe it was harder, because it's yet another year, another milestone, another holiday, where their dad is consciously choosing to be absent.  Yes, he's contacted me with interest in seeing them.  But he hasn't followed through completely, has stalled out some, and we aren't where we thought we would be by now.  And I know that's on him, and I know that I am doing what's best for my children in giving him steps to follow through and not a free pass.  But that doesn't make it easy.  It doesn't mean it doesn't feel like I'm hiding things from them.

I have to just keep praying.

Even when it's hard.

Especially when it's hard.

But hopefully, this year will be the last year where my kids have a dad-less Father's Day.

The good news is, we WILL make it through, no matter what, stronger, happier, more resilient, and filled with boundless joy and love.  It has been our testimony since the day our world started crumbling.  God's mercies are new every morning.

Do you miss that sound?

Dear Sir,

It's been a little over a week since I found out that our marriage has legally ended.  The first few days were rough for me emotionally, but I pulled through, by the grace of God and prayers of many, I have found myself filled with more smiles than tears, more joy than sorrow.

Today, our nearly two-year-old daughter wandered around the apartment, asking me "where's Jake?"
I don't know if you read a few weeks ago, but she came upon your photo.  I told her your name and that you were her daddy.  She doesn't know what a daddy is of course, so she refers to you as Jake.  Today, she was looking for you.  Her brothers didn't even notice she was asking for you. Normally, her oldest one will tell her that you are her daddy.  Today, he didn't.

I took the children to the park today.  It was the first park venture of the season, and it was much needed after them all being sick off and on for approximately a week.  I missed three full days of work, and during those days, I will admit that my thoughts fluttered to you occasionally, frustrated mostly that you cannot be bothered to share the burden of sick days so that I can earn an income to provide for them, since you absolutely refuse to take any responsibility, financially or otherwise.

It is what it is, I guess.

Anyway, we went to the park.  I now have a camera to replace the one you got rid of, and I brought it along to take a few photos.  I forgot how much I loved taking photos until I couldn't any longer, and now I have fallen in love with the process all over again.  I got some great captures of all three of my babies.

There's one in particular, of my darlin' middle child, on a swing, his mouth wide open, his eyes smiling like crazy.  I posted it online for my friends and family to see.  I wrote a caption for it, something along the lines of "I can almost hear his laughter in this photo."

My thoughts ran back to you.  So, here I am.

I have to ask...

Do you miss that sound?  That beautiful, glorious sound of a heartfelt belly laugh?  It's one of my favorite sounds.  I could listen to each of our childrens' magnificent laughter all day long, really.  You know it's one of my favorite sounds, laughter.

And you haven't heard it in nearly a year.  I cannot imagine living this life, choosing to not hear their laughter. I cannot imagine choosing not to participate in such joy, such love.

Do you miss it?   Do you even remember what it sounds like? Do you remember their voices at all? You surely haven't heard the younger two really talk like they do nowadays. Do you long for that at all?

The children are mine now, they're fully, legally, mine.  It makes me furious that you didn't so much as attempt to fight for them a little.  But there isn't much that I can do about it.  I sure did try everything I could think of.

I just want you to know that we are doing okay.  No, we are actually doing pretty good, all things considered.  Our children miss you, sort of.  They don't miss you like they used to.  One has all but forgotten you as a real person and you're only a man in a photo she knows she should like, because the boys do.  But one of those boys... well, I'm not sure he would be able to spot you in a crowd, though he looks daily, and know who you are.  I suppose that's a way to protect his heart.  The oldest one, well, he makes up stories about you, combined from his memories and what he wishes to be true. I let him.  I won't take that from him, even though it pains me to listen to it, knowing it's just fantasy.

Really though, we are doing well.  While some days are harder than others, every day, we smile, we laugh, we hug, we play, we dance, we sing, we cuddle, we create memories.  We have each other, even if we don't have you.

I hope you're well.  I pray you'll find your way.  I hope to see you again someday, knowing full well that I may not.  Only time will tell.

I may write you again.

Sincerely,
The woman still bearing your last name

Father

The past few days, I've noticed many instances where music, scripture, or dialogue points to fatherhood.

As you can expect, that's a touchy subject around here.

This morning, at church, we were singing "Good Good Father." I love this song, and was singing my heart out in praise until the first word "father" and all of the father-centered things flooded forward. My children are currently fatherless.

Scriptures rushed through my mind.

There are so many scriptures that tell me that although my kids are without their earthly father, they are NOT truly fatherless.  I may feel a bit like a widow at times (due to the unique nature of abandonment), but He's got me covered.

Yes, these scriptures are beautiful and comforting.

Practically, I hate to admit, but they don't always feel like comfort. Considering the young age of all of my children especially, who often talk about their dad being missing, trying to relate to them that God/Jesus is with them always even though they can't see him doesn't make a lot of sense, because their dad isn't with them in the same way, even though they also can't see him. 

It gets so confusing trying to explain and model these concepts. I tell my children Jesus is always around and that He is also in our hearts. I tell them their biological dad is in their hearts, but he isn't with us in omnipresence like God. To an adult, it doesn't make rational sense. To a child, even less so.

I struggle with applying these principles in my own life, let alone my kids. 

How do I get through to them they aren't fatherless when they have a Heavenly Father who provides?  Their idea of a father is skewed, which I have begun to realize is affecting my five year-olds view of Father God. He makes comments like Jesus cracks his heart, or he makes Jesus' heart cracked. He talks about Jesus disappearing. I try to speak the truth in the matter, but he just wants to argue about it.

God the father can't physically be seen to their little eyes, he's not actually rocking them to sleep or drying their tears. He's not there picking them up from daycare like other dads. He's a different kind of father than any of us understand.

It's a frustrating and overwhelming subject, this God the father to the fatherless. 

I am open to advice.

I took the boys to see "the Good Dinosaur" today. Cute movie. The dad dies, the kid loses his family. My boys both had feelings.