FATHER
[November 17th, 2005]
There is no guidebook on how to tell your daughter that her mother isn’t coming home tonight. On how to explain why. On how to explain why her mother went against your vows to each other. On how to explain why you feel like you were not enough and could never be enough for her. On how to explain how she completely and utterly ruined the family that you always wanted.
There is no guidebook on how to explain why you have been left to share this information with her by yourself. But everything was about to be by yourself for the foreseeable future.
“Sorry, Deirdre, I guess that you were not enough for your mother either.”
Obviously, you don’t say that.
There is no guidebook on what to do when she starts crying. When the tears begin pouring out, and no matter how hard she sniffs and squeezes her eyes shut, she just can’t find a way to stop herself. She cried and cries and cries. When she starts yelling at you because she doesn’t know any better. There’s nothing else to do. Right now, to her, you are the messenger that is so easy to shoot. To her, you are the reason her mother is moving out. To her, you broke the family. You broke her heart. You.
You’ll think back to the first moment you ever saw her. All slimy but the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on at the same time. She cried and cried and cried. The first night the three of you were home, you didn’t get any sleep because it felt like the whole time she was crying. There’s no guidebook on how to get some sleep when you are a new parent. But you were okay with that.
You’ll think back to the time you taught her how to ride a bike. Just when things looked promising, she turned the handle a little too harshly to the left. She fell onto the asphalt and scraped up the side of her leg. She cried and cried and cried. You carried her home to clean her up; she cried some more and screamed when you ran it under water. Then she hugged you after you finished wrapping her up. There was no guidebook on how to teach your daughter how to ride a bike. But you were okay with that.
You’ll think back to her freshman year of high school when she ran in crying after the Homecoming Dance. She didn’t want to talk to you or her mother. All you could do was listen as she cried and cried and cried. Then eventually, you knocked on her bedroom door one more time, and she yelled at you to go away. So, you listened. Again, there was no guidebook on how to not want to murder whatever fifteen-year old boy broke your daughter’s heart. But you were okay with that. (Three years later, you still wanted to murder him.)
There’s no guidebook on how to parent. Or how to be a husband. Or how to prevent your wife from cheating on you.
***
Deirdre and I sat there for an hour at our kitchen table. She yelled at me for the first five minutes, but once she stopped, she let me hold her, and we just cried. But I’d never forget the things she said to me before calming down.
“How could you just let her leave?” she yelled. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
All I could do was give Deirdre the space to let everything out.
“I just don’t understand, Dad.”
So, I gave her that space.
“You have never been around for her!”
I gave her that space even though every word stabbed me in the chest.
“You have never been around for me, either!”
There was no guidebook.
As we sat there and cried, it felt like the world around me stopped in time. The dishwasher ran quietly in the background. The chandelier flickered down the hallway. The napkin that Deirdre used to wipe her eyes was left, stained by her mascara, on the table where we ate dinner together as a family. Her knotted brown hair stuck to her cheeks from the salted tears.
“I’m going upstairs,” Deirdre finally said. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I said. “Love you.”
Her eyes stayed glued to the floor.
I didn’t know what else to say to her. I’m sure my wife, Lilith, would’ve known the perfect words. For a second, I wished she was there with me. I wished for her arms to be around me. I wished to smell her sweet, floral perfume. I wished to hear her say, “Everything is going to be all right. She just needs some time and space to think.”
Quickly, I came back to reality. Lilith was gone. I only had myself now, and that had to be enough––it would be enough. I was determined to be enough, and if not for me, then for Deirdre.
I flicked off the lights and threw the dirty napkin into the laundry room. Lilith never remembered to turn off the lights. I wandered up the stairs to my bedroom, not ours. I passed the family portraits. The vase Deirdre made Lilith for Mothers’ Day when she was in elementary school sat on the bedside table. The left side of the bed was cold. I slept on the right.
Everything remained frozen in time.
