I informed Ruby of the entire situation. I could not risk hiding that kind of information from her just for it to come out later and obliterate what I had been working so diligently to hold together.
Stella’s email informing me of the miscarriage was the last correspondence we had. (Well 1 more but it was years later, generic, and short)
The months ticked by and life with Ruby was a struggle due to baggage we both carried independent of each other. One day we were in Ruby’s car, driving home when she looked over at me and tossed out one of the weirdest questions I had ever been asked. In a vague as possible manner, she asked me something about if I knew critical information on someone who I was close to, would I tell them, knowing it might hurt them, believing they deserved to know, but feeling unsure how they would react once told?
To be honest, it wasn’t even that clear. I attempted questions for clarification, but it was going nowhere fast. After what must have been 5 solid minutes of “Who’s on First”, she cut me off mid-sentence and in a raised voice, blurted out, “Stella lied to you. She did not have a miscarriage. She had a baby girl… And it looks just like you.”
…
*silence*
…
*dead silence*
…
*deafening silence*
Before I could say anything, she confessed that after I shared the situation, she stalked Stella’s Facebook page waiting to see if any posts were shared concerning the pregnancy or the baby. Low and behold, 8-9 months after the supposed miscarried, Stella gave birth to a baby girl.
My brain reduced its normal library of slander down to only verbiage that contained poison, anger, rage, hatred… For Ruby. Who.the.fuck. was she to take it upon herself to do such a thing? To continue stalking Stella online in order to see if she was being honest or not? I had worked 8+ months to try and move past the fact I had lost my oldest and dearest friend as well as her family because I was weak and impulsive. In that moment, not only did I lose all the mental health progress I had achieved, but I went so much deeper into a depression than ever before.
Ruby didn’t know it at the time, but her actions ended us. I looked over and asked what she had hoped to gain by dropping that bomb on me. Had she considered the fact that by her telling me, I could justifiably leave her and return to Stella and my daughter? That, in her infinite wisdom, she placed our relationship in serious jeopardy? The look on Ruby’s face was that of someone who never gave that outcome a gram of thought. She looked horrified and admitted no thought had been given to that option.
As soon as we made it home, I sat down and prepared myself for the truth. I checked Stella’s FB page myself.
Her name is Sophie.
She is my daughter.
She was born in 2011.
She looks just like me.
I am her father, but I am not her dad. I have not earned that title, nor will I likely ever. That’s something I’ve had over 10 years to contemplate and accept. Even after I learned of her existence, I refrained from attempting to make contact with either of them. While some might be aghast by this decision and argue that a little girl needs her father, I assure you that it was not made lightly and for one of the few times in my life, was not decided based on my own selfish desires.
Yes. A little girl needs her father. But only if that father is capable of being a dad. You see, although I believe a child requires a masculine and a feminine presence in their life, I also believe those influences need to be readily available and consistent in that life. A baby needs consistent love and stability the same way a plant needs sunlight and water to grow and flourish. Anything less than exactly what it needs is simply neglect.
I knew what it was like to grow up in a household where my father would pop in and out at random times. When I would get my hopes up to see him just to have them crushed when he rarely did. What made it worse were the good times I did have when we were together. Riding on the back of his Harley. Skimming across the river in his boat. Sitting shotgun in his Corvette like a big dawg.
Sophie and Stella were half way across the country and I had no realistic way to get back to them in such a way that I could make the move and sustain my presence there. I had no savings. I had no prospects. I had no transportation. All I had was overwhelming guilt… rage… emptiness. I was barely fit enough to take care of myself, what sort of irreparable damage would I inflict on a younger life form that looked to me for answers?
I have written to Stella so many times that had I used a pen and paper, I would’ve consumed a package of PaperMate pens by now… In the end, I deleted the emails and closed the program.
- What good would it do to reach out now? It would not change a thing about what I did and how I abandoned them.
- Would my reaching out be for their benefit or mine? Until I can figure this out, I will not be the one to initiate because I cannot live with another selfish act performed at the cost of Stella and Sophie’s stability.
- What would happen if Sophie wanted to contact me? I would gladly take that phone call.
The following is something that Stella herself isn’t even aware of. Well before I tossed the grenade in, I would often find myself looking back at the women I had been involved with over a certain amount of time (usually over a year) and ask myself, should I ever happen to be in a situation where a woman was pregnant with my child, could I see any of the women I’ve had in my life as its mother?
The resounding, consistent answer was always Stella. I knew this in my mind before we had even slept together for the first time over a decade previous to the one time it counted most. Stella is loving, kind, caring, super intelligent, grounded, family oriented, accomplished, focused.. The list goes on and on and represents what I feel I have been unable to achieve/recognize for myself.
It’s not that I don’t want to be all of those things – To make it simple, I have been a stranger inside my own mind throughout my entire life. I’ve never been able to tell the reality of a situation from my own perceptions of it. When it doesn’t fit, I try to make it fit or change the situation to make it fit my design over reality. It works just enough to convince me to continue doing it, but not enough to convince me to consider breaking that thought pattern. I’ve been cheated on by broken women who were convinced I was cheating, when all I was really doing was chasing the next shiny hobby or interest. This is very common situation for people who operate as I do.
The truth is since the day I accepted my daughter’s presence, the choices I have made to stay away from her have nothing to do with not wanting Sophie or her not being good enough for me to be around, or the way things were/are between myself and Stella. I see myself as a poison to them both and I can’t seem to fix that. And don’t think I am attempting a pity party or a “poor me” story. This is about accepting that I am the problem. I have always been the problem and I will likely always be the problem.
Stella if you ever read this… I do not possess a deep enough vocabulary to express my most heartfelt sorrow for thinking terrible things about you when you needed my support. For not believing you. For coming into your world, burning it to the ground and abandoning you alone in the ashes. While I do believe what you were blessed with was always meant to be, I wish I could’ve been a better human being when you needed me the most.
Sophie – I pray that one day you will understand that you are worthy of more love than what I was capable of giving. My absence in your life was never about your lack of value to me. It was about my lack of value to yours. If I could not be there with you always, I needed to stay away until you were old enough to understand better. You need and deserve a consistent family unit. I neither understand what family is nor am I consistent enough with my actions. I would have done more harm than help.
Believe me when I tell you that you could not have been born to a better mother. And I’m certain there is no better mom out there than the one you wake up to every day. I really hope you understand just how lucky you are to have someone like her love you the way I know she does. As I promised your mother before you were born, I will be here if you ever decide you would like to speak to me or have questions. Your mom knows how to reach me should you both agree that it would be ok. If not, I understand that as well and wish you both nothing but love and success. You, your brother and your mom deserve nothing but the best of everything. Being part of your creation might be the one good, honest, pure thing I’ve done my entire life. You arrived when your mom needed you the most.
Before I wrap this up, let me say that I mentioned my father’s random appearances in my life growing up. Long after I left the house, my father and I had a rocky, intermittent relationship. Over the past decade or so we’ve grown closer and as we did so, I began to piece together my memories of him and with time, began to understand the obstacles he faced and the truths that were kept from me. I have long since let go of all that and today we share a tight bond that allows me to feel whole when we spend time together. In those moments, time almost stands still for me… because I don’t want them to end.
Off The Rails 