The first thing my dad—my own fucking dad, whom I had asked for nothing but a listening ear—could do was point out the flaw. Basically, the only things he pointed out about that situation, during the hardest moments of my life, made me feel more abandoned than any romantic partner ever could. How dare he pass judgment on how I handled the moment my entire life as I knew it—the life I was so proud of, the life my husband had moved mountains to build with me—was lost. The life my children lost, too. The things we loved and had worked so hard to have. Our fucking family was in the shitter, and my dad was concerned that my emotions might get too loud for his comfort. Just wow. He may place no value on the life I worked so fucking hard to build away from him. But that comment is exactly why I value it so much. Despite my broken rage, life stayed.
