Whining, Wine-ing & Winning

At one point, my dad lived half a block away from me. I didn’t know. I found out walking to school, like it was a random fact, not something that should have meant I was seen, known, part of his world.

Half a block. Close enough to hear a lawn mower. Close enough to see porch lights at night. Close enough to show up. But he didn’t.

Years later, he didn’t come to my wedding. No big explanation, no dramatic fallout. Just absence. People celebrated, music played, I married the man I loved, and underneath all of it was a quiet, steady ache: he isn’t here. So my mother walked me down the aisle with pride, like he should have done. 

Not coming to a wedding isn’t just missing an event. It’s missing the moment that says I’m proud of you, I choose you, I stand beside you.

Life moved on. I built a home. I built a family. He has never met my daughter. At a funeral—the kind where shared history is supposed to be undeniable—he asked who my son was.

There are moments when you realize distance isn’t measured in miles. It’s measured in absence. In not being recognized. Not being claimed. Not being known.

People talk about anger like it’s heavy. They don’t talk about this. The weight of being unseen.

I love him. I hate what he’s done. I stopped expecting what he never gave. I still feel the echo of wanting it. Those things live in the same place.

I am not the child waiting to be chosen anymore. I am the woman who built her own family, her own warmth, her own belonging.

Still, some days, the truth sits quietly beside me: it shouldn’t have been this way.

This was one of my very first posts…I had the courage to send this to my dad today after my mom told me I should and I said it was a bad idea. It’s not a blow but a reminder to the dads that show up. The dads that care. The dads that let their daughter put bows in their hair and say how pretty they are., happy Father’s Day to the best dads out there. You’re doing great.