I grew up believing that my father blamed me for my mother’s death but the truth was heartbreaking.
I never knew my mother, and my father never spoke about her. All I knew was that she had been very beautiful, because of the picture that hung on my father’s study wall, and that she had died very young.
My father was a sad man, a quiet and distant man. I wanted him to notice me, and to love me, but he never did. He rarely spoke to me beyond the perfunctory hello and goodbye, good morning and goodnight. I would have given anything for him to sweep me into his arms and tell me he loved me.
The shadow of my mother’s death followed me my whole life | Source: Shutterstock.com
This strange and strained relationship with my father continued until I was 18, and by then I was a sad and lonely young woman who believed my father hated me. If my father didn’t love me, who would?
But the answer to all my questions was about to be delivered in the most painful and cruel way. My father was hosting a party for his business associates, and among them was a woman whom I knew slightly.
If you don’t leave the past behind you, you deny yourself a future.
I had the feeling that she and my father had a past together — or at least that she wished they did. She greeted me and we started chatting — inconsequential talk about nothing special — and my father walked by.
I gave him my best smile, but he immediately glanced away. The woman saw it all. “Do you know why?” she asked.
I grew up feeling that my father hated me | Source: Unsplash
“Why what?” I asked, confused.
“Why he hates you,” she said.
“My father doesn’t hate me!” I exclaimed. “He’s just not a very demonstrative man.”
“So you don’t know…” she smiled. It was the ugliest smile I’d ever seen. I was about to walk away when she said, “He believes you killed your mother, Karen.”
One day at a party someone told me the truth | Source: Unsplash
I stopped in my tracks. “What?” I gasped.
“Your mother died giving birth to you, surely you know that?” she said.
“No…” I answered. “No, I didn’t know.” I turned my back on her and went looking for my grandmother, my father’s mother, the woman who’d raised me and never told me about my mother’s death.
“How did my mother die?” I asked her angrily. “Was it in childbirth?”
My mother had died in childbirth | Source: Pexels
My grandmother shook her head. “Please Karen, your father asked me never to speak of this with you.”
“I have the right to know about my own mother!” I cried. “I have the right to know why my father hates me!”
Then a quiet angry voice behind me said, “I don’t hate you, Karen, but your mother’s death is none of your business:”
I turned to face my father. “My mother’s death is none of my business? You’re wrong! I killed her, didn’t I? That’s what you think each time you look at me!”
My father blamed me for her death | Source: Unsplash
The expression in his eyes sent me running out of the door. I got into my car and drove aimlessly, tears running down my face. In my distress, I didn’t see the oncoming car changing lanes until it was too late.
I woke up in the hospital linked to a beeping machine, with a dull promise of pain twinging through my whole body. Sitting by my side and holding my hand was my father.
“Karen,” he said softly, “Thank God you’re alright!”
“Daddy…” I whispered, “you’re here!”
Tears came into his eyes. “Of course I’m here. I don’t hate you, Karen. I love you. And I don’t blame you for your mother’s death, I blame myself. When your mom and I married we were very poor.
“All we had were dreams and our love for each other. Then she fell pregnant and I took on a second job. I knew we’d need the money when you came along. I was working 16-hour days and she spent a lot of time alone.
“So one day when I came home she wasn’t there. A neighbor had taken her to the hospital. When I got there it was all over. Your mother had died, and I hadn’t been there for her.
The accident nearly cost me my life | Source: Pexels
“I didn’t blame you, Karen, I blamed myself. I was determined I wasn’t going to fail you the way I’d failed her, so I threw myself into my work, and I became a rich man.
“Daddy, how could you blame yourself?” I asked. “There was nothing you could have done!”
“I could have been there, holding her hand the way I’m holding yours now,” he said.
“But daddy…” I hesitated, “you were always so angry with me, so cold. You ran away from me.”
My father and I were reconciled | Source: Unsplash
“Karen, you look just like your mother, and each time I looked at you, my heart was torn apart by grief and guilt. It took nearly losing you to make me realize what I’d done. I love you.”
For the first time in my life, my father put his arms around me and showed me that he loved me. It was a new beginning for both of us, and I like to believe my mother was smiling down from heaven.
What can we learn from this story?
- If you don’t leave the past behind you, you deny yourself a future. Karen’s father was so lost in his pain that he nearly lost the opportunity to have a wonderful relationship with his daughter.
- The truth can heal old wounds and open the way to a new beginning. It was only after Karen and her father spoke about their estrangement that they could move past their misunderstandings.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a man who left his widowed mother homeless.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story but written by a professional writer. All names have been changed to protect identities and ensure privacy. Share your story with us, maybe it will change someone’s life.
School Bus Driver Drops Boy in Wrong Town, He Calls Mom Saying ‘I’m in a Dark, Dirty Room’ – Story of the Day
When my husband and I couldn’t pick up our son from school one day due to work, we asked Kyle to take the school bus home along with the rest of his classmates. However, things took a sharp turn when the bus driver made a mistake while calling out the bus stop locations.It was just an ordinary Thursday, or so I thought when I waved goodbye to Kyle as he left for school with my husband, Tristan. He wasn’t used to taking the bus since either Tristan or I usually picked him up from school. But work had us both tied up that day, so we called his teacher and told her he’d be taking the bus and that we’d pick him up from the bus stop as it was closer for us. She guided him on what he needed to do before boarding. “Alright, sweetheart, the bus driver is going to call out the names of the bus stops. You have to be alert and wait for him to call your stop. Okay?” Mrs. Patterson told him before Kyle boarded the bus…My baby was confident he could make it, as he had always seen himself as an independent child.”Thank you, Mrs. Patterson. I’ll be alert and wait for him to call out Pflugerville,” he said, hugging his teacher before boarding the bus. Then, he got to his seat, and the bus driver closed the door. Kyle knew that our house was a bit further than the rest of the kids, so he read a book while on the bus.
Although he knew the name of our neighborhood, he didn’t exactly know how the bus stop looked, as he’d never ridden the school bus before. After a couple of stops, the bus driver suddenly called out, “Pflugerville.” Looking around, Kyle realized he was the only one getting off at that stop. He thanked the bus driver, exited the bus, and found himself alone at the bus stop.”Dad? Mom?” he then called out. He didn’t have a cell phone, so he decided to sit, thinking we were just late. It was getting darker, and it was cold. Kyle started feeling scared and walked around the neighborhood, hoping to find our house. But he ended up lost. Then, while he was walking around, a dark figure suddenly appeared in front of him. Kyle started crying,afraid that he was about to be taken somewhere scary. To be honest, that day was hectic like no other. We didn’t realize how soon it was time to pick up Kyle. Tristan and I headed to the bus stop in the next town, expecting to see Kyle hop off with his usual bright smile. But as the kids disembarked one by one, the sinking realization hit us — Kyle wasn’t there. Panic set in when the bus driver approached us, his face pale. “I’m sorry, I made a mistake. I called out ‘Pflugerville’ too early. I drove back and looked for him, but…” he stammered. The anger and fear I felt were indescribable.
We promised to take action against this negligence, but our immediate concern was finding our son.As darkness enveloped the town, Tristan and I frantically searched the neighborhood, calling out Kyle’s name, hoping to find him. But we got no response. Our boy was somewhere, and we didn’t know where. Tears streamed down my face, the worst scenarios playing out in my mind. Then, my phone rang, cutting through the night’s stillness. “Mom?” Kyle’s voice, a mix of relief and fear, was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. “Sweetheart, where are you? Dad and I have been looking for you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. He was calling from an unknown number. Whose number was that? “I’m with Frank. I’m in a dark, dirty room, but…”
The line went dead. My heart stopped for a moment. Had someone taken him? Who was this Frank? Without hesitation, we involved the police, who traced the call to a rundown part of town. We arrived at a decrepit shelter, where we found Kyle, safe but scared, with a beggar — Frank.Tristan and I were scared beyond words. Frank looked scary with his shabby appearance, and we thought he’d abducted our son. We were ready to unleash our fury at him for what we thought was a sinister act. Tristan almost raised his hand at the poor man. But Kyle’s voice stopped us in time. “Dad, Mom, why are you getting mad at him? You should be thanking him! If it weren’t for Frank, I’d be outside, freezing in the cold, or worse, someone could have taken me.” The realization hit us hard. Frank, this stranger who had nothing, had taken our son under his wing, offering him warmth and protection when he was most vulnerable. My heart swelled with gratitude and shame for my initial suspicions. Tristan and I immediately apologized to the kind man. Frank brushed off our worries and told us it was fine. “And that’s not all, Mom,” Kyle continued. “Using the money he had left, he bought me a sandwich instead of buying something for himself. He even gave me his blanket.”Tears welled up in my eyes, not just for the fear of nearly losing Kyle but for the kindness Frank showed him. That night, my husband and I treated Frank to a delicious meal at a local Chinese restaurant. Frank was overjoyed. “Thank you for this delicious meal. You really didn’t have to do anything for me. I was glad to help Kyle!” he smiled. “Something could have happened to our son if you were not there to save him, Frank. This is the least we can do,” Tristan said while pouring Frank another cup of tea. Tristan and I were so grateful for what Frank had done that we didn’t want to stop at just treating him to dinner. We wanted to make sure that although Frank was currently unemployed, he’d live comfortably.As Tristan worked for a large pharmaceutical company, he pulled some strings to get Frank a job at one of their pharmacy branches. We also made sure he had warm clothes and food while he adjusted to life as an employee. We wanted to ensure Frank’s future was as bright as the hope he’d given us. Ultimately, Frank’s life changed for the better, and he was able to move out of the shelter and rent a small apartment that was good enough for him to comfortably live in. He also excelled at his job as a security guard, and he enjoyed being able to work and interact with different people. Frank never thought that a simple act of kindness would change his life for the better. He had a stable job and a comfortable home and gained a good set of friends — all because he decided to help Kyle that day. Looking back, I realize how a moment of fear led to an unexpected friendship and a reminder of the inherent goodness in people. Frank, once a stranger, now holds a special place in our hearts.
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