Memories of my real father do not really exist. In fact, the first and only time I saw my dad is when he was in prison (1986). I was 16. He was locked up for a crime he did not commit. I remember being really nervous and scared when I first met him. He was really excited to meet me. After that, my father wrote to me every other week, but to me the relationship was just a pipe dream. A fantasy, and one that never came true.
Years later, in my 40s, my Dad tracked me down and we would have communication again. But we were both chasing a past that we could never get back.
I took the love my dad had for me and realized it was all but forgotten. On my forty-fifth birthday, my Dad went out of his way to wish me a happy birthday. I am now 48 years old and my Dad has passed away. I miss him the most on Father’s Day.
