I asked my absent dad hard questions – his response was a gut-punch

The truth is, I used to be a Daddy’s girl (Picture: Getty Images)

The truth is, I feel irrelevant in your life.’ 

I’ve stared at those words on WhatsApp for days on end now, and they hit me like a punch in the gut. Every. Single. Time. 

It’s just one line in an endless paragraph my father sent me, weeks after I reached out to him with a series of questions. 

Why did you tell me you were ending your 23-year marriage on Christmas Eve? Why did you not speak a word to me in the months after? Why did you ignore me for seven hours at a family gathering, only to call me a ‘bitch’ and then leave without even saying goodbye? Why did you leave the country without so much as a phone call? 

So many whys. And they play on an endless loop in my head, all day long – at work, in meetings, as I do my weekly shop, as I have dinner with friends. 

The truth is, I used to be a Daddy’s girl. Yes, he’d left my mother when I was less than a year old, but he was my dad – a 6’2” invincible joker who didn’t take life too seriously. I adored him. 

I saw him every other Thursday night and then every other weekend while growing up – not that often, but I have plenty of memories I hold dear.

When I was two years old with my blonde curls and wonky fringe, he installed light up stars and a moon for my bedroom wall (Picture: Getty Images/Johner RF)

When I was two years old with my blonde curls and wonky fringe, he installed light up stars and a moon for my bedroom wall – I loved it. At six, he carried me home when I flipped off my bike. I remember holidays and watching The Simpsons on the sofa together at night before bed.  

But when I was around eight, I started to feel distance between us. He packed up with my stepmother and moved to a gorgeous Tuscan villa in Italy, leaving just my mum and I for two, maybe three, years.

I hardly heard from him, and I remember missing him terribly and crying on the bathroom floor as my mum held me.

When he did visit home after two years, I was so desperate to see him that I broke my leg trying to jump the garden wall to give him a hug. He was beaming at me, until I took a tumble, after which he scooped me up and took me to hospital.

He moved up to Scotland not long after that, again leaving me back home in the southern counties, so I went more years without seeing him much. He rarely rang and the occasional texts came through – we weren’t in constant contact.

The only comment he did make was to call me a bitch, completely out of the blue

But it was when I reached my late teens, doing my A-levels, when things started to really go downhill in our relationship. I would go for months without speaking to him, holding out to see if he would message me first – he hardly ever did.  

When I went to uni, he never once offered to come and visit me, only passing by once to take me to hospital for a routine surgery. Again, I would hold out, waiting for him to call or message, but often found myself caving and reaching out to him first. He’s my dad, after all – I missed him.   

Whenever I managed to see him, it always came with the sarcastic words: ‘I don’t recognise you’ or ‘It’ll be years before I see you again’. Ironic since I was the only one of us travelling to visit the other.  

Flash forward to the present, I’d planned to spend this Christmas just gone with him and my stepmother, making my plans clear months in advance. But as the festive period grew closer, I heard nothing.  

I burst into tears as I sat next to the Christmas tree alone (Credits: Getty Images)

It was my grandmother (his mum) who dropped the bomb on me that he wouldn’t be spending Christmas with me, because he wasn’t going to be in the country. So I waited for his call to tell me it wasn’t happening, but it never came. 

Then on Christmas Eve, I got a call from Thailand. ‘We’ve split up,’ my father said down the phone. ‘Things haven’t been right for a long time, I’ve got nowhere to go, so I’m abroad right now. Merry Christmas.’ 

I burst into tears as I sat next to the Christmas tree alone, trying to gather myself before returning to the family breakfast in the next room. I didn’t know what to do next.

I wouldn’t hear from him again until February, as I desperately wanted him to call and check in. He’d broken up the marriage to my stepmother, who I’d known since I was two years old, and I was sad but not totally surprised. Over the years they’d grown distant and rolled their eyes at each other, tolerating one another rather than being in love.

I next saw him in February, at a family gathering with my aunt and uncle, two cousins and my partner. In the entire seven hours we spent together, my father didn’t say a word to me. 

We hadn’t spoken in months – he didn’t ask how I was, what work was like, or even make small talk on the weather. It was icy silence for seven long hours – the only comment he did make was to call me a bitch, completely out of the blue – I still don’t know where that came from.

Everyone went silent but no one said anything and I, as I always had done, internalised it, bit my tongue, and walked off. It was the type of thing he’d say.

I cried for days after, and I knew people had told him I was upset, but still, I heard nothing from him for well over a month (Picture: Getty Images)

He hugged me goodbye, but without saying a word, and without making eye contact. I was completely bewildered. 

I cried for days after, and I knew people had told him I was upset, but still, I heard nothing from him for well over a month.  

Then, I finally sent him a message with those questions. His reply wasn’t an apology, I just got a series of justifications – the main one being I’d made him feel irrelevant. My therapist has labelled him a narcissist, so I should’ve known I wasn’t going to get a ‘sorry’ for any of it. 

I still love him deeply and I know he’s in a bad place mentally – but I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t on me. I also know that if I’m not the one to bend then I’ll likely be fatherless, which breaks my heart.  

But it’s a relationship that is making me feel like I’m the one in the wrong, and I know in my gut that I’m not. I think I’m already grieving our bond. I know it’s never going to return to the days of bike rides and bedtime stories.  

My relationship with my dad feels a bit like palliative care right now; I know the inevitable is coming and I’d do anything to stop it, but I can’t play fate. I’ve never understood estrangement… until now. 

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