To the man who chose to be my dad, then chose to leave

There’s no denying it: for most of my childhood, you were my dad. Not by blood, but by presence. By choice. And honestly, you were the best father I could have asked for. You made me feel loved. Protected. Seen. You supported me, showed up for me, and gave me beautiful memories that live in my heart to this day — vacations, Sunday mornings at church, cheering in the stands at my games. You and your family never made me feel like anything other than yours. And for that, I will always be grateful.

That’s what made your absence hit so hard.

When you left, it wasn’t just the end of a marriage between you and my mom. It was the end of my relationship with the only father I had ever truly known. You disappeared without explanation. Without a goodbye. And without any regard for the bond we had built over the years. You didn’t just leave her — you left us. You left me.

It was soul-crushing. Because this time, the absence didn’t come from someone who had never really been there — it came from someone who had. Someone who had actively loved me, supported me, raised me... and then, suddenly, didn’t.

I don’t know if your silence was your choice or a decision my mom made for you. I’ve carried questions I’ll probably never get answers to. But more than the questions, I’ve carried the pain. Your abandonment — layered on top of my biological father’s absence — deeply affected my sense of worth. It made me feel unlovable, like something about me just wasn’t enough to make someone stay. And that pain followed me into my relationships, shaping how I viewed love, commitment, and myself.

I remember feeling so hurt when you embraced being a grandfather to someone else’s grandchild while ignoring my own son. At that point, you were still my dad in my heart, even if you had long since stopped acting like it. And yet, even with all of that, when I saw you again in 2019, you welcomed me with warmth. You made me feel like I still mattered. And that brought up its own storm of emotions — comfort and confusion. Gratitude and grief.

The truth is, I don’t need to understand why you left anymore. I’m not looking for answers. I’m not holding onto resentment. But I do need to let go of the lingering wound. I need to release this chapter — not to erase the love you gave, but to free myself from the pain of its sudden absence.

You were a gift in my childhood. And your absence was a wound in my adulthood.

I honor both truths now. I honor what was and I release what’s no longer mine to carry.

Goodbye, and thank you — for the love you gave when you were still choosing me.

— Niki

2019; the last time I saw him