how we talk about the absent father

Ah, yes. Father's Day.

As a single mom of a burgeoning little girl, I forget that our situation in life holds unexpected potholes. I only know *this* life. The one I have. I don't know otherwise. So I don't think about her experience with Father's Day, or her asking about it, or her witnessing it in other families.

I'm still tackling this one, and I think this will be a topic of discussion throughout the next 20+ years of life. Mostly because she asks. She's two for heaven's sake. TWO. I thought I had until at least 4.

A bit of back story for you: Madeleine's father (my former husband) is in another state right now. No, we don't see him. It's best to say at this point, their interactions are sparse. Distance + life + different ideas of how things should work. I'll leave it at that.

(Side note: You will not find a bitter ex-wife tirade here. Or a "men are jerks" rant. 

Nor will you find me saying, "I am superwoman." I will say that being a single mom has some incredible, beautiful, hard, challenging moments... just as I know "regular" family situations have.

Mothering is mothering. 

There is no guide book for it. And whether you're single or with someone, us moms are still figuring this thing out...day by day, sometimes minute by minute.)

She often mistakes strangers for him, or musicians on stage who have dark hair hanging over their eyes. She'll sometimes ask my guy friends if they're her dad. Or she'll start calling her uncles "dad", or her grandfather "dad". She's even been known to walk up to a male friend and ask them to marry me. (*dying of embarrassment over here*)

I do correct her, and never leave a doubt in her mind. Her father is real, just not here.

At night, when I'm tucking her tiny body into bed, and her arms wrap tight around my arm, she'll ask:
"Where's Daddy? I miss him."

I usually pause, and pull myself down to my knees next to her.

"Daddy doesn't live here," she says and looks at the ceiling of silk scarves and green glowing stars. "Daddy lives in his house in Texas."

"Yup, that's right," I say, stroking her feathery curls behind her ears.

(Side note #2: I don't talk trash about him, especially to her. I just don't.

Not at all,

not ever,

and by God's grace, never will.

I have my own issues, but hurting her by speaking things, and hurting him back by dragging his name through the mud does nothing good.

There is no freedom in that. There is no spirit of redemption in that. And by redemption I mean, I am not going to sling mud at his invisible presence until she's 18. She will grow up and decide for herself how she feels about it. Him. Them. I will not lie, but I will not grow hard to her tender, searching heart. The story that exploded into a million shards between him and I does not need to gut her out before she has a chance to see it for herself.)

"Your father lives far away, but he loves you very much," I say.

"I want a daddy," she says, her eyelids drooping heavy. "I want two daddies."

I tell her about the men who love her who she sees all the time.
My dad.
My brothers.
Her older cousins.

Boys and men who love God, and love her like their own. I tell her that God will take care of us, and what He has given us now is good for us now. And should He decide someday to bring another Daddy, then we will be happy.

But even if he doesn't, we will be happy then too. 

She smiles, "I love you." And her eyes drift off to the side wall, marking the stars that glow with her fingers.

I can't fix the hole that is gaping in her. I'm not to fill it with wishful thinking for a future I don't know, or burning ashes of a past I can't change.

I'm not supposed to be her hero. That's not my job. That's not her father's job. That's not the job of some man who could be another father in her life.

That belongs to God. Just like the air in her lungs, and the rhythm of her heart. The song on her lips and the tears on her cheeks. She is not mine to own, fix or mold.

I close the door as she drifts off to sleep, one small speed bump gone under our feet and into the dark.

His grace is good.

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{linking up with these girls today}