My Daughter Hates Me: Lastly - Where does it end?

When Samantha turned eighteen and half I called her. I decided not to call on her birthday because it would have been selfish to ruin her day. I decided to call after the holidays for the same reason.

It was an awkward, pause filled conversation - I think we were both waiting to see how far the other one would go. I was concerned about saying so much that I would overwhelm her with emotions. As much as I want to have a relationship with her I also don't want to overwhelm her with words and feelings and thoughts. Any relationship that develops needs to be on her time not mine.

We've talked twice on the phone in the year and half since then. Mostly we communicated via text messages, email, and MySpace. It wasn't going great but for nearly a year it was going - which was all I was hoping. I worked hard not to flooding her with questions about her life or bury her in information about me and my life. I sent her the same general info you'd send to or ask of a friend. On long trips I'd sit in the hotel or the restaurant and we'd trade 30 or 40 text messages. I loved every minute of it.

Of course, once Samantha's mom and stepdad discovered we were communicating the wheels came off the wagon. I was a little perplexed at why I wasn't hearing from her. First she unfriended me on MySpace. Then Twitter. Then she stopped returning text messages. Changed her phone number. Then she stopped returning emails.

In doing my research I discovered her mom and friended her on MySpace and her stepfather created a Twitter account. The only person either of them followed was Samantha. Out of distress and anger I reasoned it out with someone else. The reality is Samantha's mother and stepfather are paying her phone bill. She lives with them. They provide a roof over her head and money.

When Samantha was six months old, Kellie's mom stood before the two of us and gave Kellie an ultimatum - choose now. Essentially, Kellie's mom told Kellie to either choose a relationship with me or with them. She couldn't have it both ways. She made the reasonable logical choice of any scared young mother.

I imagine that is the lesson Kellie passed onto Samantha. It's one or the other. Although I could be wrong but something changed almost overnight. Perhaps it is the sins of the parents being passed onto our children.

Five years ago I married a beautiful woman and gained two stepsons – instant family. She married me in spite of my past errors, blunders and gaffs. She loves me in spite of my failings and, “loves me for who I am today, not who I was.” I went to great lengths to fully disclose the amends I’m still attempting to make and the reasons. She deserves to know the truth because we are sharing a life and a love.

The transition for all of us has been difficult. Leo is fourteen now and blithely unconcerned about the workings of the universe. Although, he is still struggling with his mother’s divorce and is having difficulty with the change. The other boy, Alex, is twenty, lonely and angry. He is the same age as my daughter and is the All-American boy.

Losing my daughter has made me especially sensitive to my role. On more than one occasion I have defended my wife’s ex-husband’s choices. Who am I to be casting stones? I made it clear to the boys I have no interest in being, replacing or undermining their relationship with their dad. I’m Sean. I refuse invitations to parent-teacher conferences and band concerts until after their father has declined the invitation.

At times I’m nothing more than a chauffeur or an ATM machine. On more than one occasion, I’ve thought I was failing as a husband and step-father (my insecurities get the best of me sometimes). My wife tells me that is normal and I’m doing great. I think she is just saying that but truthfully, I’m extremely grateful for the encouragement and support. I’m lucky to have the opportunity to be a husband and stepfather. Because of my past, I didn’t believe I’d ever be given the chance.

As my partner, I value her perspective and asked her to read through my story As a parent, divorcee, and award-winning journalist I value her perspective. She hates this article. It made her sad. She argues it is to dark and unforgiving. It should be more cheerful. She thought it lacked a proper ending.

“It lacks closure,” were her exact words.

I agree. It is sad. And unfortunate. And tragic. And heart wrenching. It has all the elements of a Greek tragedy. I wish I could write some beautiful ending that makes everyone feel good. I wish there was some way to give the closure my wife wants, Kellie deserves, and Samantha (I hope) will eventually seek. I wish there was closure simply so I could sleep at night without wondering about our fates.

In the meantime, my amends to Samantha is to be a better man then yesterday. Sometimes, I am. Sometimes, I’m not. I am more often then I use to be. If, and when, she knocks on my door, I’ll be ready. Should something happen and I’ve passed from the scene I hope my family and friends can tell her the truth without embellishment – “He was a fine man who loved you everyday.”

That is the amends I live towards. It is the “best” I can offer today.

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 11 - Some wrongs that can never be fully righted

For a long time my choices tied my life into a seemingly inescapable Gordian Knot: a knot inadvertently binding those I love (and hated) to a life of chaos and confusion. I tried everything I could think of to untie the knot. Often, I only made it worse. "The significant problems we face cannot be solved,” said Albert Einstein, “at the same level of thinking we were at when we created them.”

I needed a new solution on a different level. Most of my life I made choices based on my “rights” and the “easiest” way to gain them. As my divorce progressed I began to see that if I focused on giving the “best” instead of taking what was my “right” life might change for the better. It would change because I’d be making choices at a different level. My amends are an attempt to give compensation for my wrongs. It is the processes of thinking – and acting – on life based on a new foundation. On a different level. It has unraveled the knot binding me.

The Gordian Knot is a story from antiquity. When Alexander the Great arrived in the city of Gordium he learned of a prophecy pertaining to a great knot. Whoever could untie the knot would conquer all of Asia. Of course, the knot seemed hopelessly tangled and he could find no ends to begin untying it. So the future conqueror of Asia took his sword and sliced the knot in two. He found a solution by thinking at a level different from everyone else. My amends are an attempt to cut through the knot in my life. As I said earlier, my change in behavior is an attempt at making the amends that can be made.

I know there are some wrongs that can never be fully rectified but I want to do as much as I can.

First, there is the man who is on the verge of repeating my mistakes. I hope he will learn from my experiences and stop to reconsider his choices before they adversely affect his life and the lives of the people around him. He will seek what is “best” instead of what is “easiest”. Embrace his “responsibilities” as opposed to engaging his “rights”.

Then of course, there is the man who is sitting on the edge of the bed thinking about pulling the trigger. Everyone has a life worth living. You just have to find it. For me it had to begin by seeking the “best” solution instead of choosing the “easiest” and suicide was the “easiest”. It had to begin by being honest about the past, coupled to a willingness to start living for the future. I want the man on the bed to know that no matter how bad the situation it can be turned around. There is always hope.

Most importantly it is an attempt to mend my relationship with both Kellie and Samantha. These are the hardest amends. Of all the harms I committed, the one I would most like to untangle is giving Kellie someone to hate – someone to resent and fear. I know I made some poor choices. I know I was wrong. I know it is easier to blame and hate than take responsibility. But I also know from personal experience, that resentment, bitterness and suspicion contribute to a soul sickness as destructive as cancer or alcoholism. I wish Kellie could find some peace about our entangled past. By taking responsibility for my choices, paying my past due support, trying to help other men not repeat my mistakes, and by not hating her back, I am trying to do what I can to free her from the part of the knot I’m responsible for tying.

Unfortunately, making amends to my daughter is a bit more complicated. I have seen my daughter only once in the last fourteen years. It was in the lobby of the courthouse.

In July of 1999, when she turned ten, I allowed her to be adopted by her stepfather. As I left the hearing, Kellie’s parents, her husband and Sam stood in the hectic lobby. They were gathering to celebrate. As I approached, grandma wrapped her arms around Samantha and held her by the shoulders. It only validated what I’d known she was being taught. There are no written words to describe body language but it was as readable as a picture book. I looked Samantha in the eyes and chose to keep walking. I didn’t want her to be subjected to more insanity.

Walking past is my only regret because I have no reason to believe I will see her at all in the next nine years.

I know adoption isn’t the “right” way for everyone. It isn’t even the “right” way for me. Rather it is the “best” for Samantha. At least it is the “best” as I saw it in July 1999. I couldn’t bring myself to drag Samantha into court in order to assert my “right” as a father. I couldn’t continue to fight a war where the main casualty was going to be a little girl.

I’m supposed to be the adult.

As her father it is my job to protect her, not hers to protect me.

My Daughter Hates Me: Part 9 - If a child dies isn’t it the mother’s fault?

Growing up in the hill country of West Virginia my dad is full of colloquialisms. He is constantly saying things like, “That’s slicker than an eel in a bucket of snot,” or this thing or that is “slower than molasses”. On more than one occasion he has suggested not coming between, “a she-bear and her cubs”. I imagine that is good advice if you are fishing in bear country during trout season. It is also good advice when discussing my daughter and her mother.

From the beginning, Kellie argued my relationship with Samantha was a package deal. Either accept both of them or forget having a relationship with Samantha. Regardless of whether that is “right”, it is reality. It is exactly how it turned out. I don’t like it but I long ago accepted it.

As stated earlier, I was angry with Kellie for coming between my daughter and me. As such, I responded by withholding child support and threatening to get a lawyer and sue. I would steamroll her if she didn’t stop interfering in my relationship with Samantha. After all, Samantha is my daughter and I have my “rights”.

Of course, if Cooley is right, and her motives are the same as mine, she was angry with me because I was coming between her and Samantha. From my perspective, we both did and said a lot in an attempt to protect our “rights”. Truthfully, it would have been better if I had focused less on my “rights” and more on my “responsibility”. It would have made my fifty percent less messy.

In hindsight, I cannot blame Kellie for her actions. I certainly cannot hate her. I threatened to get a court order taking custody of Samantha. I imagine she was just as terrified of a sheriff showing up at her door taking Samantha away from her as I was of the sheriff showing up at my door with an arrest warrant because of past due child support.

Living in fear is horrible, whether human or bear, and I guess we both instinctively do what have to do to protect our children. We do what seems “right” regardless of what is “best”.

For example, over the years, I’ve heard stories of firemen needing to drag mothers out of a flame-engulfed house because they refuse to leave until the baby is found. Sounds “right” but if the mother dies is that “best” for the surviving children? Is it “best” for the mother? I have a female friend who argues that the “right” in that situation is irrelevant. It is what is expected and the societal shame is a heavy burden for a grieving mother.

After all, my friend asks, if a child dies isn’t it perceived as the mother’s fault?

As a discarded dad, I have a unique perspective on children. Not the “right” one just a unique one. For example, I have friends who have divorced and fought over the children the same way they fought over the Roth IRA. The issue becomes who contributed what and for how long. They treat their children as a possession instead of individuals. Having lost the bond to my daughter I know better. Broken possessions can be replaced. Broken relationships may never mend.

I heard a wise grandmother say to me her children are individuals of her not because of her. They are gifts from the Universe and simply passed through her womb. Her responsibility is to care for them until they can care for themselves. She tries to teach them how to love and be loved. How to live fearlessly.

I like that because that is what I want for my daughter. I want her to be able to love and be loved. I want her to be fearless by courageously facing the dangers and challenges of life. Honestly, that is all I want for myself. For my ex-wife. For Kellie. For everyone I’ve ever been angry with. For everyone I know. I’ve never met you but it is what I want for you.

I talked to a number of individuals with similar experiences, and sought their advice about my situation with Kellie and my daughter. Generally, the solution was variations on the same theme:

“Get a lawyer and sue.”
“Get a lawyer and fight for your rights.”
“She has a right to be with her father."

Maybe.

When I’m honest, it seemed to me it would make a bad situation worse. After all, how can I argue in good faith for my “rights” when I did such a lousy job addressing my responsibilities? I wasn’t accountable when Kellie was pregnant. Later, I neglected my financial obligations out of childish anger, false pride and unbridled ambition. Truthfully, it seems I lack the credibility to be demanding my “rights”.