“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.
“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.”
“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.
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