The holiday season always brings a mix of emotions for me. We often joke about the relatives we’d rather avoid at family get-togethers—the uncle who indulges a bit too much in holiday cheer or the cousin who seems perpetually silent and awkward. However, what we don’t discuss as freely are the family members we’ve become estranged from for various reasons.
Fast-forward four years and two kids later, and you might think it would hurt a little less not hearing from my father on Christmas. You’d assume I’d have grown accustomed to the read receipts that go unanswered. Yet, as the holidays approach each year, the knot in my throat tightens. It becomes increasingly difficult to disregard the heartwarming family photos flooding social media—images of babies peacefully dozing on grandpa’s chest or families beaming in matching pajamas.
My phone doesn’t buzz with excited inquiries about the perfect gift for my uniquely particular six-year-old daughter. There are no charming Christmas cards to display on my refrigerator.
I am fortunate to have a wonderful stepdad who has stepped in where my biological father has stepped out. He provides the stability I desperately needed and the love I sometimes felt I didn’t deserve. However, the wounded little girl who longed for her dad tends to surface around this time every year. The same haunting questions echo in my mind: “Why don’t you love me?” and “Am I not good enough?” These thoughts have constructed the negative self-image I struggle with daily.
The grief over the relationship I yearn for hits me hard, leaving me reeling. The fact that my children deserve better, and that I deserve better, weighs heavily on me. It’s unfathomable to think that someone could have four beautiful grandchildren and not know who they are at all.
At this point, I have no expectations for change. I don’t anticipate a Christmas miracle where my father shows up at my door for a heartfelt reunion. The reality is, I understand that life rarely plays out like a Hallmark movie, where fate delivers our happy endings on a silver platter.
Perhaps I should count my blessings. Out of the four children he has, I was the only one he consistently saw during my childhood, and there were some cherished moments in between his fourth and fifth marriages. Sure, my birthday parties often turned into gatherings for adults who indulged a little too much, but at least I had those celebrations, right? Even if my irrational fear of drowning while trapped in a car stems from our chaotic drives to avoid his conflicts with his wife, I can appreciate that he included me.
I’ve found forgiveness years ago, and my anger has transformed into a deep sadness. Coming to terms with the fact that I have no control over this situation, much like I can’t control the weather outside, offers some solace, but it doesn’t heal the wounds. What was once a gaping sore has now become a minor scrape that still stings if I accidentally bump it.
This Christmas, I’ll wrap my arms around my kids and feel grateful to witness their delight as they open their gifts. We’ll video chat with my mom, the only grandparent they truly know. At the end of the day, I can rest knowing I will never inflict the pain I’ve experienced on them, even if I might overcompensate a little. When they’re older, I’ll share the truth with them, but for now, I’ll process my feelings in private. After all, I’m not the one who should be apologizing.
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Summary: The author reflects on the emotional struggle of dealing with a distant father during the holiday season. Despite finding support from a stepfather, she grapples with feelings of inadequacy and loss. The piece explores themes of forgiveness, the pain of estrangement, and the hope of creating a better future for her own children.