Im seventy now, and looking back, I realise I became a father long before I ever learned to think about myself. I got married young, and from that very first pregnancy, my entire life revolved around everyone else. I never worked outside the homenot for lack of desire, but because there was simply no choice. Someone had to be there. My wife was out of the house before dawn and often didnt return until after dark. Our home was my responsibility. The children were mine to raise. The exhaustion, too, was entirely mine.
I remember countless sleepless nights: one child with a fever, another being sick, a third crying. All the while, I was completely on my own. No one ever asked if I was alright. Each morning, Id get up again, make breakfast, and push on. Never once did I say, I cant. I never asked for help. I genuinely believed thats what made a good father.
When our children got older, I longed to attend a class or pick up a new skilljust something brief, really. My wife would say, Whats the point? Your work is done. And I believed her. I stayed on the sidelines, always in a supporting role. When one of the kids failed a term at school, it was me who would speak with my wife, trying to calm her down. When another became a parent too young, I accompanied her to appointments and looked after the baby while she tried to find her footing. Whenever something was falling apart, I was always the one who stepped up.
When the grandchildren came along, the house was full againrucksacks, toys, laughter, and tears. For years, I was a nursery, a kitchen, a nurse, all in one. I never sought any thanks, never complained. Even when I felt completely drained, theyd say, Dad, youre the only one who knows how to look after them properly. I clung to that.
Then, my wife fell ill. I took care of her until her very last day. After she was gone, I started hearing, Sorry, I cant make it this week, Lets catch up next week, or Ill ring you later. Now, its not unusual for weeks to pass without seeing anyone. Its no exaggerationactual weeks. Ive had birthdays where all I get is a quick message on WhatsApp. Sometimes, out of habit, I lay two plates at dinner. I only realise what Ive done when theres no one to call to the table.
I remember slipping in the bathroom once. It wasnt serious, but it frightened me. I sat on the floor, hoping someone would pick up the phone. No one did. So I got myself up. I never told anyone, not wanting to worry them. Ive since learned to keep quiet.
My children tell me they love me, and I know they do. Still, love without presence can hurt. They always seem rushed, speaking to me in passing. If I begin to share a story, they cut in with, Alright, Dad, well talk later. But that later never comes.
It isnt loneliness that weighs the heaviest. The hardest thing is realising that Ive gone from being essential to just another obligation. I was the cornerstone of it all, and now Im an inconvenient entry in someones diary. No one mistreats me, but its clear Im no longer needed.
What advice would you have for me? If anything, Ive learned this: you can devote a lifetime to caring for others, but you mustnt forget to look after yourself as well. Thats what Id tell the man I wasand anyone else who might listen.
