My Failures As A Father: Chapter 1

GREYHOUND

The day things fell apart for us is a scar in my mind. Kathy and I were both quiet in my cousin’s car on the ride down to the greyhound station. I sat in the back so I could be closer to my daughter. Her one-year-old face was shined with vaseline and baby lotion and she giggled every time I said peekaboo. When we finally arrived at the station, Kathy lifted Krystasia out of the car seat while I grabbed my bags out of my cousin’s trunk. She was still in Kathy’s arms when the loading doors to the bus were closing and the driver said everyone had to be on board. 

“Say bye to your daddy, munchkin.”

We still weren’t sure when either of us would see each other again. I had accepted a basketball scholarship to a university in Western New York called Saint Bonaventure. Not only would it take me away to another country, but it took me away from my family. Even at 19 years old, that word meant something to me. It meant something to us. 

Krystasia jumped into my arms one last time. I held her as long as I could before I heard the engine of the greyhound growl through the station. By the time I stepped on the bus, I had to hustle to my window seat to see Kathy and Krystasia waving goodbye. I waved until the bus made its first turn out of the station and fought not to let tears slip down my cheek. If I could’ve read the stories in those tears, I wouldn’t have fought them back at all. I would’ve let them flow freely because that was the moment that tore my relationship with Kathy apart. 

We didn’t know that at the time, though. How could we? Just a couple of weeks earlier, we celebrated Krystasia’s first birthday. We had a barbecue at the park and bought her a cake with her face on it. Actually, it wasn’t just her face, it was her full body. The picture was taken when Krystasia was only six months old and dressed in a blue and white striped, armless shirt. All of our friends came out dressed in basketball jerseys and jean shorts. We drank and smoked and bumped our music way too loud, but had the best time.

Sitting on that bus, though, I realize that my tears were selfish. I worried about Krystasia forgetting me. I worried about not feeling like a father. What I didn’t consider was what my leaving did to Kathy. She lived with a freedom and confidence that made me fall in love and I didn’t think for a minute, not one minute, that me leaving would be a problem for her. 

It wasn’t until recently that I reflected on how she must have felt. All the thoughts that must’ve been swirling through her mind as she smiled and waved goodbye to that bus. Sometimes I wonder…what was the first thing Kathy did when she left the station? Did she shed any tears? Hop back in my cousin’s car and have him drive her straight home? Did she think about her future? About our future? 

Krystasia was probably fussy on the way back. Kathy probably sat with her in the backseat and gave her a bottle because she hadn’t eaten much that morning. While that bus was carrying me away to follow my dreams, Kathy’s fate was already written. There was no time for her to close her eyes and imagine what her life could be. She was a teenage mother. A mother without a partner physically present to give her the space to let her mind wander. Our daughter needed her. 

I get it now. After all these years, I finally get it. I abandoned her. And I can reason that it was for a good cause. That I wanted to give my daughter a better life. That I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to play division one college basketball and travel all across America doing what I loved to do. I graduated with a degree in the field that’s now my career so all of it made sense, and it all worked out as planned. But it was my plan. My life. My dreams. Not hers. 

It didn’t take long for things to fall apart.

In my absence, Kathy and I unravelled as quickly as we’d become infatuated. Krystasia was our only connection and even she couldn’t save us. We were together by title only. Any real affection had abandoned us and replaced itself with the weight of the reality that we were really just two kids. We were also two different people trying to make a relationship work through conditions that would strain the most committed, mature couples. The odds were against us from the first time I touched Kathy’s stomach with Krystasia inside. It just took this long for us to finally concede. 

I didn’t understand any of this back then. I couldn’t see past my growing resentment towards Kathy. She made me feel small, insignificant and unimportant in my daughter’s life. As I say that, I realize I felt all those emotions without her berating me. There were days in that dorm room I wish I told Kathy no. No, I don’t want you to have that baby. No, I won’t stay with you through all of this. No, I’m not ready to be a father. I’d lay on my back and let my mind wander for hours thinking of what my life could’ve been if I didn’t have a child. If I was a normal student with normal responsibilities just enjoying being a teenager. 

As much as I regret those thoughts today, they were real.

Kathy hates me now and that’s OK. Sometimes I hate her, too. But I know that her initial sacrifice helped shape my life just like my sacrifice helped define hers. 

And now we’re here. Years later and separated by something far greater than any distance. I’m not sure how Kathy actually feels about me. Sometimes I think she’s never gotten over me getting on that greyhound, and that resentment has grown so wide that it’s engulfed our daughter. 

I was supposed to be Kathy’s rock. It was supposed to be my job to stay with her through everything we knew we’d go through once we agreed to not aborting our child. All those promises were broken the moment I stepped on that bus. Kathy may not have been able to articulate it in this manner, but I know she felt abandoned. How could she not? 

But all I can do is assume. We haven’t exchanged words since that day at my daughter’s schoolyard five years ago. Haven’t exchanged glances since we sat in court and she agreed to give me full custody. We’ll probably never speak again. 

And I’m OK with that, but what does it do to a child to lose their mother? And lose is a kind word. My daughter was abandoned by her mother. It’s been her mother’s choice not to call, not to set up any time to visit, not to be part of her daughter’s life after helping to raise her for 13 years. The universe has a tragic sense of humour.

For weeks after this abandonment, I watched how my daughter behaved. I tried to analyze her moods, gauge her actions, process every word that came out of her mouth to figure out how she was coping. Weeks turned to months, then months turned into years. I still checked in every so often to let my daughter know it was ok not to be ok. That being abandoned by her mother was a traumatic experience even though it may not feel like it in the moment. 

But Krystasia is ok. Another assumption but it’s what I believe. It’s what she tells herself and has also made herself believe. In my heart, I think the day will come when she will acknowledge her emotions and face them head-on. I’ll be there that day, though it won’t be my battle.

My fight has been long. Long as those trips back and forth on the greyhound. But there’s more. So much more…

END

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These stories are all real, though some names have been changed.