After My Parents Divorced I Thought My Dad Didn’t Love Me Anymore

After my parents divorced and my father left the country to start a new life, I thought he’d stopped loving me.

The day he told me he was leaving, I was in third grade. “I’m moving out,” he told me, “but I’m not leaving you, I’m just leaving your mom.” His Manhattan ad agency was sending him to Mexico City to set up a new branch. Dad had always been the more stable parent, calm and rational, a stark contrast to my erratic and drug-addicted mom.

My life became darker without him

As the oldest sibling, I became parentified, doing the grocery shopping and listening to Mom cry after her therapy sessions.

Without him there to mediate, life with Mom got even darker, and Dad worried about us too, so he negotiated with his company to fly me and my two sisters out first class to see him often.

Three years after they split up, he set up a father-daughter week for just us in Oaxaca. I was only 12 when he took me to climb Monte Alban’s towering pyramid, eat sweet chicken mole, and hit candy-filled piñatas as we walked cobblestone streets and talked about life among the ancient ruins.

Dad told me long ago, “I set up that week because I wanted to spend special time with you.” Dad knew I needed to know how much he loved me, even though he lived more than 2,000 miles away. He also knew I needed to see how happiness could feel.

Mexico holds muscle memories of love and light for me. Being with Dad in a foreign land felt like thousands of colored prisms surrounded me like glittering glimpses of “esperanza,” the Spanish word for hope. The boulevards lined with red poinsettias and flashing bright blue and green lights during our trip made me feel joyful.

I saw him in a different way

That week so long ago, Dad and I laughed as we saw ancient etchings, ate handmade tamales, quesadillas, and Oaxacan bittersweet hot chocolate like I had never had, and talked about divorce, family, and beauty. I saw Dad in a different light; I saw the part of him that was sad, too, about living so far away from us. Something shifted within me. Instead of only feeling abandoned, I felt truly loved.

During a night at the tallest pyramid, Dad said, “Honey, I know that you carry a lot. I hope one day you kids can live here for a whole school year.” By then, he had remarried and had small children with my stepmother.

While that week seemed like a fading fantasy when I came back to Mom’s constant cursing, I could still feel Dad’s undivided attention and kindness during that trip. His love lasted, like those Mexican ruins.

I wanted my Dad and stepdad to walk me down the aisle

Five years after our solo trip, Mom remarried a loving guy who treated my sisters and me like we were his own kids. During their first year of marriage, Dad took us three kids for a year, like he’d wished for us long ago. I became even closer to my dad, stepmom, and new brothers. I became fluent in Spanish that year, and will never forget the house in Cuernavaca he rented that summer with an original Diego Rivera on the bottom of the swimming pool.

When I got married at 28, I wanted both my Dad and my stepfather to walk me down the aisle, as I loved them both. I came to realize now that my parents’ divorce had nothing to do with me; he had left Mom, but not me.

Every time we boarded Mexican airlines to go back to New York, Dad would shout, “Adios! See you soon!” And we always did. To this day, his sign-off at the end of every phone call is “Adios!”

Dad turns 89 this year, and I still thank him constantly for that week. In honor of him, I have taken my own daughters on solo trips over the years. Dad taught me that no matter how painful times get, love creates hope.

Dad’s decision to take me on that father-daughter trip among the ancient civilizations saved me. He showed me the power of unconditional love, even when every other condition of my life had changed.