Father’s Day: Broken Ties

As father’s day approaches, for me, there will be no funny ties, there will be no “Greatest Dad” bbq apron, there will be no dinner and there will be no hugs. Why…because there will be no dad. My father and I haven’t spoken to each other in over 10 years.

Why? Because he left me. He left figuratively and literally–he left my dreams; he left my hopes…he left in every way that a father can leave his daughter.

He missed my graduation from college, he missed the commencement ceremony from graduate school, he skipped my wedding. Somehow, I was able to understand his decisions because he and my mother were divorced and simply could not stand to be near one another.

But the most significant and lonely event in my life from which he chose to be absent–was my mother’s funeral…he left me to deal with that grief and all that surrounds a funeral…alone, with my brothers and sister to fend for ourselves. That abandonment affected my entire adult life…and for that we probably will never speak.

I am wiped out every time I see the modern version of “Father of the Bride”…that sappy movie is the vision that every girl has of her father; and I was deprived.

The poem that makes me think of my Father on Father’s day is W.H. Auden’s Funeral Blues–on the surface it is about a funeral, and the profound loss felt by those who are left behind. For me it is about the death of a relationship that never existed. It is for its extremely textured language and imagery that I feel the need to include it in this post.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden

Dad, I wish things could have been different.