Life With an Absent Father

Life With an Absent Father: Growing Up Learning to Stand Alone

I remember being in Grade 12, sitting on my bed, staring at my phone, hoping he would call. Even a short message from him felt like a lifeline. I would check my phone obsessively, imagining that the next notification would be from him, a simple “How are you?” or “I’m proud of you.” But slowly, things started to change. His messages became shorter, the calls less frequent, and the warmth I once counted on disappeared. It wasn’t dramatic or sudden just the quiet drift into absence that made every day feel heavier.

By the time I was in my third year at university, the silence was complete. One day, with a sinking feeling, I realized he had blocked my number. Just like that, he had erased me from his life. It wasn’t a confrontation or an argument it was invisible, and yet it hit harder than any words could have.

I replayed memories over and over: the good mornings, the small advice he gave, the laughter we shared. I kept asking myself where I had gone wrong. I blamed myself, thinking maybe I hadn’t called enough or said the right things. Nights were the hardest; lying in bed, I felt the emptiness of his absence like a physical weight.

It wasn’t just me who suffered. My younger brother, only eleven, was confused and hurt. He asked questions I didn’t have answers to, and some nights, he would cry quietly in his bed. I tried to be strong for him, pretending I wasn’t hurt so he wouldn’t worry. I became both sister and caregiver, a role I hadn’t been ready for. Together, we navigated the days, relying on each other for comfort and support. Some nights, I would lie awake listening to him breathe, whispering to myself that everything would be okay, even when I wasn’t sure it was.

At first, I buried the pain under school, work, and small distractions. Writing became my escape. I would scribble thoughts in notebooks, type messages I would never send, and pour my emotions onto paper. Slowly, I realized that his leaving didn’t define me. It was about him, not about my worth or abilities. The more I wrote, the more I understood that my life didn’t have to be determined by his absence.

Forgiveness didn’t come quickly. It was a slow, uneven process. There were days when anger flared up, sudden and uninvited, triggered by a passing thought or memory. Over time, I realized holding onto that anger only weighed me down. Choosing not to dwell on resentment, choosing to stop checking my phone constantly, and silently wishing him well even when I still felt hurt helped me reclaim my own life.

I discovered resilience, independence, and patience I didn’t know I had. Life without a present parent is hard, but it teaches lessons no presence ever could. I learned to care for myself and my brother, to trust my own judgment, and to find strength in small victories: finishing a tough assignment, paying a bill for the first time, or comforting my brother when he felt lost. These small moments became proof of my capabilities, a reminder that absence didn’t mean weakness.

Looking back now, I don’t know if my father will ever call again — maybe he won’t but I am standing strong, whole, and enough because I learned to rise anyway. Growing up with an absent father left scars, yes, but it also left me with resilience, empathy, and the understanding that your worth is never determined by someone else’s presence or absence. I learned that life is about finding strength in what you do have and building a sense of family and support around you, even when the people you hoped for aren’t there.

Even though there are moments of sadness, moments when I wonder how things might have been, I also know that the lessons, the growth, and the love I share with my brother are real and earned. Life may not have given me everything I wanted, but it gave me strength, independence, and the ability to rise above challenges and those gifts are priceless.