(Planet Me)
Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Three weeks ago, I said “I do.”

I've probably explained how much this person means to me. How on this day, I wanted everyone I loved around me. Even those who didn't deserve it.

My father sent me an email the morning of my wedding.

He wasn't coming.

A fucking email.

He followed it up with a text message.

I don't know exactly what he expected, but I retorted unambigiously.

“I'm sorry you took that attitude”, he replied.

“Don't be sorry for my attitude : be sorry for your absence.”

I haven't heard from him since.

I don't know what he expects. That I would email him a photo of the greatest day of my life that he couldn't be bothered to turn up to my wedding? That I would call him and be like nothing ever happened and everything was OK?

Of course. It's not OK.

I cannot explain this to my wife's family who were looking forward to finally meeting him. I cannot make any more excuses on his behalf.

He didn't call. I know he can use a phone. He rang me the day before.

But should I be surprised? Should I be anything other than sadly, expecting such an absence?

He's never been there for me when anything ever went wrong. I thought maybe he didn't know what to do. It was more that he could not be bothered at being a good parent or father.

He had an opportunity to be at his sons wedding today, as well as meet his other estranged son that he hasn't seen for three years, and his grandson for the first time, as well as his other grandson for the first time in five years. A fairly important day, all things considered. Oh, and my wife for the first time. A day perhaps worth leaving the house for.

The last time I missed a wedding – and it wasn't even a family one – I was on a delayed flight back from Tenerife and in mid-air during the vows.

He taught me everything about how not to be a Dad.

He hasn't even met his grandson. And didn't send him a card.

His dead wife would be ashamed. He - like all of us - will die alone. But he won't be smart enough to work out why his sons won't be there when he dies. He might wonder "What did I do wrong?" without realising he didn't even do enough to get anything wrong.

It was his last chance, to be honest. And unforgivable.

He had an opportunity to do the most important job any man could do : to mould young souls and turn them into brilliant people and help them through life and be there for them - and they will be there for him. And he failed at that.

And I cannot forgive him.

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