A Second Mother's Day
For The Mom Who Showed Up When the Dad Didn't
When my doorbell rang this past Saturday, I was surprised to find a delivery of flowers on the porch.
My birthday was in March, and Mother’s Day was over. Who would be sending this and why?
I waved to the lady from the floral shop who was backing out of the driveway. Once inside, I opened the box to find the lovely bouquet pictured above. The card read: “Happy Second Mother’s Day, from your favorite daughter.”
Just to clarify, like any good parent, I have no favorites. She’s my only daughter.
When she stopped by later, I gave her a warm hug of thanks and asked about the impromptu gift.
“What’s the occasion?” I queried.
“It’s a second Mother’s Day gift since I have nothing to celebrate tomorrow.” (Sunday, of course, was Father’s Day.)
She never had a relationship with her Dad, and that was entirely his fault. It’s a parent’s responsibility to create a lasting connection with their child starting on day one. But he never did.
She was the last of three kids with two older brothers. Born five years after my middle child, she never got to see her Dad’s ‘better days.’ Sadly, those better days as a father didn’t last long.
My husband was an alcoholic whose addiction likely started in high school. We partied a lot in those days and the ones that followed after graduation.
He loved beer and drank it faithfully. When we became parents, he advised me to stop working. He said that it was important for children to be raised by parents and not babysitters.
I was delighted! I disliked my job and wanted nothing more than to be at home with my newborn son.
Because he allowed me to quit my job, I didn’t mind that he did virtually nothing regarding childcare. Of course, I came to regret this later, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t a hands-on parent and never planned to be one. We had three children, none of whom he bathed or changed diapers. Not. one. time.
His only involvement with the kids came later when they started playing sports. He loved shouting directions from the sidelines (with a beer surreptitiously disguised in a travel mug) but wouldn’t dream of signing on as an actual coach. Anything that included competition between his sons and other boys got him excited.
“That’s my boy,” was the tired cliche he’d holler when they scored a goal or struck another player out.
His machismo was nauseating.
By the time our daughter entered school and started to play fall and winter sports, it was no longer a novelty. I think the fact that she was a girl also made it less important in his eyes.
In the beginning, he attended her events just as he had with the boys. But over time, his appearance at soccer matches and basketball games became spotty before he finally stopped altogether.
If a child has an absent parent, they’ll depend 100% on the one who does show up.
When the boys were in Cub Scouts and wanted to attend the Winter Fest, I was there. I remember their Dad saying that he had to work in all kinds of weather, so he wasn’t spending his Saturday outdoors in the cold.
That was around 1995, and we had a major snowstorm late in the week. The kids were thrilled, of course. The other moms were indoors preparing lunches and snacks, while I spent the day outside in four feet of snow with all the dads. I’m pretty sure my boys noticed.
In addition, I had to ask my mom to watch our daughter because he refused to babysit on his weekend off. (Is it really babysitting when the child is your own?)
So often, when the other spouse would normally step up to help with their kids, mine did not.
The addiction was growing steadily worse, and my daughter’s recollections of her father were extremely negative ones. He was drinking throughout the day, every day. Holidays and family gatherings induced anxiety for all of us. He had what I referred to as verbal diarrhea, and it grew steadily worse with each beer he drank.
If he had been a quiet drunk, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But his know-it-all attitude and non-stop rambling made him uncomfortable to be around.
It wasn’t as pronounced in the early years - the ones that my older sons can remember. They recall a Dad who still looked healthy and acted normally.
However, my daughter’s memories are of a man who was always angry at his perceived misery, which he blamed on everyone else. He began to lose weight and lost interest in everything except drinking.
The last straw was when he threatened to kill us (something I didn’t believe he was actually capable of.) I had gone to bed, leaving him downstairs chain-smoking with several empty Budweiser cans scattered around an overflowing ashtray.
I listened to his latest diatribe about how awful his life was: losing his father, problems with the current boss, and how we cost him so much money. So overworked and underappreciated.
Suddenly, I heard the words:
“I’m gonna come up there and kill you.”
Our daughter (who I thought was asleep and whose bedroom door I closed) heard it. She flew out of her room and into bed with me, shaking from terror, believing we were going to die within moments. It took close to an hour to calm her down.
Her panic attacks began shortly after that incident, and I finally mustered the courage to leave him.
She never spoke to her father again.
The anxiety had built up over time, and it required medication and therapy for her to function and heal. I never realized how bad it was for her. That’s the part that haunts me to this day. How much damage did all my kids get from living with a verbally abusive alcoholic?
Fortunately, we had good role models in our extended families that exemplified to my kids what a healthy family should look like. Not the sick and crippling way we had lived for too long.
He died twelve years later, and she essentially felt nothing. In the interim, he tried to contact her and sent gifts. She refused them and never responded.
I came to realize that a relationship between them had never existed, so there was no loss.
You can’t lose something you never had in the first place. Being a parent requires sacrifice, but it’s worth all the effort. You reap what you sow. Enjoying a loving bond with your child is incredibly rewarding and even more so as they become adults.
And that’s something I’m grateful to celebrate on Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and every day in between!
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Even though it may have been difficult I’m glad your daughter had the courage to set those boundaries and appreciate you. There are too many children who grow up to resent the parent who stayed and yearn for the ones that didn’t. They spend their entire lives looking for them in other people so they can have a second chance. Thank you for sharing.
That's such a sad account. But what a wise, strong mum and what an accepting and loving child.