The Paternal Hurt
My father died from complications from a heart valve transplant, resulting from his heroin addiction. I read my fathers' obituary, and while I was proud to read what he had accomplished in his life as a musician and chef, what my grandfather wrote at the end hurt me deeply. He wrote, "Donations in Davids' name may be given to the American Heart Association."
It hurt me because I was his daughter, and at age 23 I was still struggling without any support from him my entire life. He owed my family over $20,000 dollars in child support that he dodged. Whenever the government found him and started docking his check to pay us what he legally owed, he would quit his job and move on to the next one without hesitation, without any thought of how his neglect was affecting me, his only child.
Why did my grandfather not think of benefiting me in his obituary? I know my father was a good and talented man in and of himself, but he was a man who abandoned his daughter and actively worked to keep from helping me. Yes, I understand he had drug problems, but so did my mother, and it was my maternal family (my grandmother and aunts) who housed, fed, clothed and supported me unconditionally and without end. But where was my father? Where was my paternal grandfather?
My father was a good man, but he was a horrible father. And that is what hurts my heart the most; my father was a good man, but was not in my life and virtually ignored me. He was non-existent in my life. I would get a phone call here, a card there, but they were years in between. Sometimes I would forget that I even had a dad.
So my questions to God are... why was I ignored by my paternal side of the family? I have worked so hard even from when I was just a young teen, I tried my hardest to make a good person out of myself. Why were the adult men in my life nowhere to be found? Why did all my efforts fall to the ground without recognition?
I wore hand-me-downs from neighbors' boys because my mothers' family, who raised me single-handedly, didn't have enough money to get me clothing or shoes. Not even from the thrift store; that is how poor we were. My 6th grade teacher bought me new sneakers because the ones the neighbors' gave me were several sizes too big and smelled, and she didn't want the other kids making fun of me. Where was my father? Where was my paternal grandfather?
My mother was on welfare, and I had public health care and we ate government cheese that was dropped off on my doorstep in a brown paper bag early in the morning. My maternal grandmother literally raised me. Where was my father? Where was my paternal grandfather? That's what I don't get about this world: It seems that the mothers' side almost always shoulders the burden of children, while the father and his side of the family can just go on with life as if no one was born who needed care.
I am genuinely sad that he died, but the thing that hurts me the most is the fact that I was apparently not important enough to care about. I didn't know who he was. And what adds insult to my injury, is that my grandpa virtually ignored my struggles, even in the face of my dads' death.
Don't get me wrong, I am sure he was also struggling to come to terms with the fact his son was dead from drug use. I can't imagine how hard that must have been for him. But on the same coin, I was a young adult who needed things to live. I had grown up from being an abandoned child who needed clothing, food, health care, guidance and support. I also needed a car, I needed funding to try and attend college. I still need those things, as right now I am currently homeless without a car or any job prospects.
But I guess in his mind, the American Heart Association needed more donations than his own sons' daughter: Me. Why God, why am I somehow always a second thought, if any thought at all?
-Amanda Clark
11/29/2011
It hurt me because I was his daughter, and at age 23 I was still struggling without any support from him my entire life. He owed my family over $20,000 dollars in child support that he dodged. Whenever the government found him and started docking his check to pay us what he legally owed, he would quit his job and move on to the next one without hesitation, without any thought of how his neglect was affecting me, his only child.
Why did my grandfather not think of benefiting me in his obituary? I know my father was a good and talented man in and of himself, but he was a man who abandoned his daughter and actively worked to keep from helping me. Yes, I understand he had drug problems, but so did my mother, and it was my maternal family (my grandmother and aunts) who housed, fed, clothed and supported me unconditionally and without end. But where was my father? Where was my paternal grandfather?
My father was a good man, but he was a horrible father. And that is what hurts my heart the most; my father was a good man, but was not in my life and virtually ignored me. He was non-existent in my life. I would get a phone call here, a card there, but they were years in between. Sometimes I would forget that I even had a dad.
So my questions to God are... why was I ignored by my paternal side of the family? I have worked so hard even from when I was just a young teen, I tried my hardest to make a good person out of myself. Why were the adult men in my life nowhere to be found? Why did all my efforts fall to the ground without recognition?
I wore hand-me-downs from neighbors' boys because my mothers' family, who raised me single-handedly, didn't have enough money to get me clothing or shoes. Not even from the thrift store; that is how poor we were. My 6th grade teacher bought me new sneakers because the ones the neighbors' gave me were several sizes too big and smelled, and she didn't want the other kids making fun of me. Where was my father? Where was my paternal grandfather?
My mother was on welfare, and I had public health care and we ate government cheese that was dropped off on my doorstep in a brown paper bag early in the morning. My maternal grandmother literally raised me. Where was my father? Where was my paternal grandfather? That's what I don't get about this world: It seems that the mothers' side almost always shoulders the burden of children, while the father and his side of the family can just go on with life as if no one was born who needed care.
I am genuinely sad that he died, but the thing that hurts me the most is the fact that I was apparently not important enough to care about. I didn't know who he was. And what adds insult to my injury, is that my grandpa virtually ignored my struggles, even in the face of my dads' death.
Don't get me wrong, I am sure he was also struggling to come to terms with the fact his son was dead from drug use. I can't imagine how hard that must have been for him. But on the same coin, I was a young adult who needed things to live. I had grown up from being an abandoned child who needed clothing, food, health care, guidance and support. I also needed a car, I needed funding to try and attend college. I still need those things, as right now I am currently homeless without a car or any job prospects.
But I guess in his mind, the American Heart Association needed more donations than his own sons' daughter: Me. Why God, why am I somehow always a second thought, if any thought at all?
-Amanda Clark
11/29/2011