Carrying a Different Kind of Loss

Dear Purple Mailbox,

My father died six months ago, and I still haven't cried. Before anyone judges me, let me explain. My dad wasn't abusive. He wasn't cruel. He wasn't an addict. He went to work every day, paid his bills, and made sure I had everything I needed physically. But emotionally? I don't know that he ever really knew me. I can't remember him asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I don't remember him coming to my school plays. I don't remember him hugging me much or telling me he was proud of me. He was present, but absent at the same time.

When I graduated from college, he sent flowers but didn't attend because he "wasn't much for ceremonies." When I got married, he came to the wedding but left right after dinner. When I got divorced, he never called to ask how I was doing. That was just my father.A man who always seemed to be standing just outside of my life.

At his funeral, people couldn't stop talking about how wonderful he was.

"Your dad would do anything for anybody."

"He never met a stranger."

"He loved helping people."

I smiled and thanked everyone. But inside, I kept thinking... Where was that man when it came to me? I keep waiting for grief to hit me. Instead, I mostly feel... guilty because I'm not devastated. I don't miss him the way everyone assumes I should. I kind of feel like I've been mourning the father I wanted my whole life. And now that he's gone, there's no possibility of him ever becoming that person.

Am I a terrible daughter? Or is there just something else wrong with me?

Sincerely,

Crazy Daisy from Kentucky

💜 Dear Crazy Daisy,

The line that stayed with me was: "He was present. But somehow absent." I think there are a lot of people who carry that experience.

Many parents settle into the obligations of parenthood rather than the practice of parenting. They provide food, clothing, shelter, and stability. They pay bills and show up for the responsibilities everyone can see. But emotional involvement is a different kind of presence. It asks questions. It lingers and hovers. It notices who you're becoming. It makes you feel known. And there is a real ache that comes from realizing someone was physically near but emotionally far away.

Your letter also reminded me of my own experience. My biological father died before I was born, so my grief has always looked different. There wasn't the grief of losing him because I never had him. There was grief in not being able to miss something I never experienced. Sure, I had a stepfather, godfathers, and father figures, but nothing quite compares to seeing yourself reflected in your parents' eyes and knowing that connection exists. I honestly don't know how I've coped with that absence throughout my life. But one thing was certain: I had to cope. There was no way around it.

I think that's why my heart goes out to you. Whether a parent is absent through death, distance, or emotional unavailability, we're often left grieving possibilities as much as realities. We wonder what could have been, what might have changed, and what it would have felt like to experience that relationship differently.

I don't see a terrible daughter in your letter. I see someone trying to make sense of a complicated relationship and a complicated loss. And I think you're learning something many people eventually discover: not every loss arrives as overwhelming sadness. Sometimes it arrives as unanswered questions, unrealized hopes, and the quiet acceptance that some relationships never became what we needed them to be. 💜