All My Life My Father Blamed Me for My Mother's Passing, Then He Gets Taught a Lesson

I grew up thinking that my father blamed me for my mother's death, but the truth was heart-wrenching.

I never knew my mother, and my father never talked about her. The only thing I knew was that she was very beautiful, judging by the photo hanging in my father’s study, and that she had died at a young age.

My father was a sorrowful, quiet, and distant man. I wanted him to notice me and show love, but he never did. He rarely spoke to me beyond simple greetings like hello or goodbye, good morning or goodnight. I would have given anything for him to hold me in his arms and say he loved me.

This strange and strained relationship with my father persisted until I turned 18. By then, I was a lonely and unhappy young woman who believed my father despised me. If he didn’t love me, who would?

But soon, the answer to my questions came in the most painful and cruel way. My father was hosting a gathering for his business colleagues, one of whom was a woman I only knew slightly.

### If you hold on to the past, you block your future.

I sensed that she and my father shared a history — or at least she wished they did. She greeted me and we started talking about small, trivial things. As we spoke, my father passed by.

I offered him my best smile, but he quickly looked away. The woman noticed. "Do you know why?" she asked.

I asked, confused, "Why what?"

"Why he hates you," she replied.

"My father doesn’t hate me!" I protested. "He’s just not an affectionate man."

"So you don’t realize…” she said with an unpleasant smile I’d never seen before. I was about to walk away when she added, “He believes you caused your mother’s death, Karen.”

I froze. "What?" I managed to gasp.

"Your mother died giving birth to you. Surely, you know that?" she told me.

"No…" I said. "No, I didn’t know." I turned away and looked for my grandmother, my father's mother, the woman who raised me and had never told me about my mother’s death.

"How did my mother die?" I asked her angrily. "Was it during childbirth?"

My grandmother shook her head. "Please, Karen, your father asked me never to tell you."

"I have the right to know about my own mother!" I yelled. "I deserve to know why my father hates me!"

Then, a quiet, angry voice behind me said, "I don’t hate you, Karen. But your mother’s death isn’t your business."

I turned to face my father. "My mother’s death isn’t my concern? You’re wrong! I killed her, didn’t I? That’s what you think every time you look at me!"

His eyes showed so much pain that I ran out of the room. I got in my car and drove aimlessly, tears streaming down my face. In my distress, I didn’t notice an oncoming car changing lanes until it was too late.

I woke up in the hospital connected to a monitor, feeling a dull ache all over my body. Sitting beside me and holding my hand was my father.

"Karen," he said softly, "thank God you’re okay!"

"Daddy…" I whispered. "You're here!"

Tears filled his eyes. "Of course I am 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 mother and I married, we were very poor.

"We only had dreams and our love. Then she got pregnant, and I took a second job. I knew we’d need money when you arrived. I worked 16-hour days, and she spent a lot of time alone.

"So one day, I came home, and she was gone. A neighbor took her to the hospital. When I got there, it was too late. Your mother had passed away, and I wasn’t there for her."

The accident almost took my life. | Source: Pexels

"I blamed myself, not you," he continued. "I buried myself in work to make sure I wouldn’t let you down the way I did her, and that’s how I became successful."

"How could you blame yourself?" I asked. "There was nothing you could do."

"I could have been there, holding her hand like I hold yours now," he replied.

"But Daddy…" I hesitated, "you’ve always been so distant and cold. You ran away from me."

My father and I finally reconciled. | Source: Unsplash

"Karen, you look just like your mother. Every time I saw you, guilt and sorrow tore at me. It took nearly losing you to realize what I’d done. I love you."

For the first time, my father embraced me, showing me his love. It was a new beginning for us. I believe my mother was smiling from heaven.