I grew up believing that my father blamed me for my mother’s death, but the reality was painful. I never knew my mother, and my father never mentioned her. I only knew she was beautiful because of the picture on my father’s study wall, and she died young. My father was a sad, silent, and distant man. I wanted him to notice and love me, but he never did. He hardly spoke to me other than the obligatory hello and goodbye, good morning and goodnight.

I would have given anything for him to take me in his arms and tell me he loved me.This strange and strained relationship with my father lasted until I was 18, when I was a depressed and lonely young woman who believed my father despised me. If my father did not love me, who would? But the answer to all of my questions was about to be delivered in the most painful and cruel manner. My father was throwing a party for his business associates, and among them was a woman I knew briefly.

If you do not put the past behind you, you will deny yourself a future. I got the impression that she and my father had a history together, or at least that she wished they did. She greeted me, and we began chatting about nothing extraordinary, when my father walked by. I offered him my best smile, but he quickly looked away. The woman saw everything. “Do you know why?” she inquired.

“Why what?” I asked, perplexed. “Why he hates you,” she explained. “My father doesn’t hate me!” I exclaimed. “He’s just not a very demonstrative man.” “So you don’t know…” she said, smiling. It was the ugliest smile I had ever seen. I was ready to walk away when she said, “He believes you killed your mother, Karen.”
I stopped in my tracks. “What?” I gasped.

“Your mother died giving birth to you, surely you know that?” she quipped. “No…” I answered. “No, I didn’t know.” I turned away from her and started looking for my grandma, my father’s mother, the woman who had raised me and never told me of my mother’s death. “How did my mother die?” I questioned her aggressively. “Was it in childbirth?”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!” 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. “Is my mother’s death none of my business? You are wrong! I killed her, right? “That is what you think every time you look at me!”The look in his eyes made me flee out the door.

I got into my car and drove aimlessly while tears streamed down my face. In my panic, I didn’t notice the approaching car change lanes until it was too late. I awoke in the hospital, connected to a beeping machine, with a dull promise of pain coursing through my entire body. My father sat by my side and held my hand. “Karen,” he murmured softly, “Thank God you’re alright!”

“Daddy…” I muttered, “you’re here!” Tears filled his eyes. “Of course I am 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 mother and I married, we were very poor. “We only had dreams and affection for each other. Then she became pregnant, and I took on a second job. I knew we’d need the money when you arrived. I worked 16-hour days, and she spent a lot of time alone.

“So one day, I arrived home and she wasn’t there. A neighbor had driven her to the hospital. When I got there, everything was over. Your mother had died, and I had not been there for her. “I did not blame you, Karen; I blamed myself. I was resolved not to disappoint you in the same way I had failed her, so I put myself into my career and became a wealthy 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 told her. “But daddy…” I paused, “You were always angry with me, so cold.” “You ran away from me.” “Karen, you look exactly like your mother, and every time I looked at you, my heart was torn apart with pain and shame. It took almost losing you to comprehend what I had done. “I love you.”

My father wrapped his arms around me for the first time in my life, showing me how much he loved me. It was a fresh start for both of us, and I like to believe my mother was smiling down from heaven.