Big Strong Hands

Many of you who used to read my blog, know my childhood was pretty pathetic. Drunk Mother.. Bad influences.. Barely escaped alive.. etc.

I also grew up without a father in my life. There was a strange and blank void where I should have been able to put a face. Most of my friends had fathers. Some of them had awesome fathers. I would jealously watch as they interacting with their dads, watching the relationships, wondering what it must be like. I had a recurring daydream about slipping my tiny hand into a strong fatherly grip, walking alongside a towering figure, knowing that if I happened to stumble, that big strong hand would instantly whisk me up, and gently set me right again. Oh how I longed for that.

As the years passed, I got older and learned to ignore those feelings. Instead I became bitter. I pictured the day when I would tell my father how much I hated him for leaving me all alone to try and survive with a drunk and broken woman that could barely manage standing straight, much less put forth any parenting skills. I pictured a verbal revenge. Scathing, hateful words that would bring him to his knees begging for my fogiveness.

And then....then I found my husband. My dear sweet DysdHubby. And we had children. I began witnessing what a true and tender father really was. Slowly the angry revengeful feelings were replaced once again with those pangs of longing and jealousy that I had felt as child. And yet I know I can't turn back time. My childhood is long over. I have since found my father, but it has been terribly bittersweet. Yes, I have a face to fill in the void. But still, I will never feel the grip of my Daddy holding my hand as I walk alongside him, feeling his loving strength as we walk. But Gosh Darnit. My children will. And somehow that gives me peace.