A Sad Christmas Memory

The year 2008 was a difficult one for me. I was having problems finding my father. It had been months since I'd heard from him, and as the snow piled up outside, I remember hoping he was warm that winter. We had always hoped he and his wife would show up on our doorstep. After all, she was gravely ill and needed extra care to get over a surgical complication. My father seemed low when I last had seen him, and luckily my life was working out enough that I would have gladly welcomed them here, helped him get a job in his field, and let them stay until they were on their feet.

I hired a detective to help me find my dad sometime in November. They determined he was in a motel room in Missouri but was in a dire condition. Though I've had my share of issues, it seemed my old man was really fighting some difficult times. We were having a decent holiday season, but my heart was at a loss for my father, who I had not been able to ever fully grasp a relationship with. I was determined to try to help him out though.

His wife was in a fragile state. She was very ill. He was working odd jobs and saddened by the difficulties of his life. There was no reason for so much struggle though. I asked my wife if it was okay to go pick them up. She told me that by all means, I should try to help my dad. I headed to Missouri in driving snow but as I got closer to where he was staying, the snow subsided and the world looked a bleak gray with thick mud and an overall deathly look to it. I took a breath and mustered the strength to knock on the door, gifts in my arms and a load of food in the back of the car just in case I couldn't get them to come home with me.

After six hours of driving, the moment of truth was at hand. I knocked boldly on the door, but no one answered. In the lobby, there were people who didn't speak English but I discovered that my father had run out of money and was somewhere else, possibly living out of his car. I drove around the alien city hoping to find him on that Christmas eve. Disappointed, I gave his gifts to others I found along the way. As I climbed into bed next to my wife after driving for fourteen hours, I felt the warmth of her against me and started to sob.

She asked me if my father was okay, and I told her he was a survivor. Then, I snuggled against her and choked back the pain of the evening. The next morning would be Christmas, after all. And I was doing alright. And I was safe and warm.

Three weeks ago, my father contacted my sister out of the blue, as usual, and not me. His wife followed soon after with a phone number, which I tried to call but my message was never answered. He finally called me back angry and informed me that he chooses not to have any kind of a relationship with me. His wife called later and attacked my wife, who they blame for everything. You know, she never says anything about anything to anyone. It's just easier for him to use her as an excuse. I am sad that my father and I will never have a relationship, but this was a mess my mother forged out of her own insecurity. My heart will always long for that relationship though. Any child's would.