The Unanswered Questions We Carry
The moment I held my daughter for the first time, her tiny fingers curling reflexively around mine, something inside me shifted. It wasn’t just the overwhelming rush of love or the sudden awareness of responsibility—though those feelings were undeniable. It was the quiet, creeping realization that I’d never fully understand my own father. His absence, which I’d carried like a shadow for years, suddenly felt heavier, sharper, more inexplicable. How could someone hold a child and then walk away? How could he leave and never look back?
Growing up, I told myself his disappearance was a mystery I’d solve someday. Maybe he had reasons too complicated for a kid to grasp. Maybe he thought he was doing us a favor. But parenthood has a way of stripping away the neat narratives we create. Raising my daughter, I’ve discovered a truth that’s both comforting and unsettling: love for a child isn’t a passive emotion. It’s a daily choice, a series of actions—showing up, staying present, weathering storms you never saw coming. And that’s what I can’t reconcile. If love requires effort, how did my dad convince himself that leaving was easier?
I used to think his absence was about me. Maybe I wasn’t interesting enough, or he didn’t like who I was becoming. But watching my daughter grow—her laughter, her stubbornness, her curiosity about bugs and rainbows—I’ve realized something: kids don’t make it easy to leave. They’re messy, demanding, and relentlessly there. You don’t vanish because parenting is simple; you vanish because something inside you refuses to engage with the complexity. That’s the part I’ll never understand. Not because I’m judging him, but because the version of love I’ve learned is so fundamentally different.
My daughter is four now, and she asks about her grandfather sometimes. “Where’s your dad?” she’ll say, squinting at family photos. I used to give vague answers—“He lives far away”—but lately, I’ve started telling her the truth: “I don’t know, sweetheart. Sometimes people leave, and we don’t get to know why.” It feels like a betrayal, admitting that. But maybe it’s better than letting her believe all relationships come with guarantees.
What’s strange is that becoming a parent hasn’t filled the void my father left; it’s widened it. The more I pour into my daughter—the bedtime stories, the scraped-knee consolations, the patience I dig for when she tests every boundary—the more I wonder: Did he ever try? Was there a moment he almost stayed, almost chose us over whatever pulled him away? Or was walking out as effortless as breathing?
I used to fantasize about confrontations. I’d imagine tracking him down, demanding explanations, forcing him to see the damage. But now, when those thoughts surface, I picture my daughter’s face. The idea of someone hurting her the way he hurt me feels unthinkable. And that’s the irony: his absence taught me what not to do, but it didn’t teach me how to forgive him.
Maybe that’s the lesson, though. Parenthood isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about sitting with the questions. My daughter has shown me that love isn’t a fixed destination; it’s a path you walk every day, even when it’s muddy or steep. My father chose a different path, and I’ll never know why. But in raising her, I’ve learned to stop searching for closure in his choices and instead find meaning in my own.
There’s a peculiar freedom in accepting that some mysteries stay unsolved. My dad’s departure will always be a wound, but it’s no longer the center of my story. My daughter has given me a new plotline—one where I get to redefine what it means to stay.
In the quiet moments, when she’s asleep and the house is still, I think about the father I never had and the father I’m trying to be. The gap between those two realities used to feel like failure. Now, it feels like a bridge. I’ll never understand him, but I understand this: showing up matters. Being present matters. And if my legacy is that my daughter never has to wonder why I left, then maybe that’s enough.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » The Unanswered Questions We Carry