A Letter to the Fellow Fatherless on Father’s Day

Since you’re reading this, I assume you’re also fatherless. Maybe, like me, you cherish a collection of warm images of your dad. Or the opposite, in that you never knew the man.

Or maybe you had a father—on paper. Might as well have been fatherless, though, given his dreadful behavior.

Regardless of how you acquired fatherlessness, I wrote this article for you.

Unexpected Directions

Certain places magnify my grief, like the mall near our place. He frequented the mall often.

Walking its floors is like wading into the deep end of the pool—with each step, I sink deeper into sadness.

Some of the stores have since disappeared, Papa. I update him with mental texts while power-walking through the mall. Do heavenly residents receive this type of communication from us earthlings? Maybe I’ll ask Jesus directly when I make my debut into eternity. Chipotle, the Ramen place, and Panda Express are still around. The Mongolian BBQ left, to my and Mama’s consternati— 

My inner monologue stalls as Charley’s Philly Steaks, one of my father’s favorites, stares me in the face.

Grief grips my windpipe.

Why didn’t you offer to walk to the mall with him, Audrey?

Heat crawls up the back of my eyeballs. Sensing an opening, remorse ceases all pretense of politeness and hurls more accusing questions.

Why didn’t you spend more time with him—period?

Did you have to be so annoyed when he cautioned your driving? Didn’t you know he did it out of care?

Why didn’t you call him more often?

By now, tears are ramping up, ready to freefall off my face. Nope, I shake my head. Sobbing at the mall won’t do. I scuttle away from the dining hall, and as I turn, a clothing store’s window display snags my attention. Under a “30% sale!” sign, two words in burnished copper sum up my world post-Papa:

Unexpected Directions

Even though they mean it in a positive way, I take it as anything but. Unexpected describes my father’s death to a tee. I adore him for exercising multiple times a week, guarding his diet, winning sports tournaments, and breaking the local record for the longest swim time.

Yet, a heart attack cheated this man out of celebrating his 70^th birthday.

Death snatched my father so stealthily that I had to close my private practice, leave the counseling center I directed, fly back home on the earliest flight I could book, and move in with my mom.

Our joint forces felt feeble against the barrage of shock and sorrow.

Six weeks later, I returned to the States and discovered how closely my office mirrored my heart.

Empty.

I had zero clients left.

They had all found other providers.

Unexpected directions, indeed.

I wonder if you resonate with a similar tale. Did fatherlessness tank your life’s trajectory?

Maybe it eroded even your faith.

The Worst Fatherlessness

I composed the above narrative after the first anniversary of my father’s death. Close to four years later, I still miss him dearly. My grief isn’t as acute, and my practice has recovered, thank God, but my conclusion stays the same: there’s nothing endearing about being fatherless.

Except I’m not fully fatherless. My heavenly One has promised never to abandon me—or you (Hebrews 13:5).

Ultimately—and this is coming from a fellow fatherless—there is nothing worse than being estranged from the Father from whom every family derives its name (Ephesians 3:14-15).

I get it if you view God the Father like your earthly father. Elsewhere I’ve explained why we instinctively view God like we do our fathers. If your dad was a deadbeat, you probably assume God is similar in nature.

No amount of head knowledge will persuade your heart to believe God towers in excellence compared to any father figure. As they say, the heart has reasons the mind knows nothing of.

But will you give God a chance to prove He’s a good father? Even to you?

I realize how big of an ask this is, especially if father figures—including spiritual ones—have mistreated you.

So let me share another anecdote about how responsive the Father is.

The encounter started when my heavy heart squeezed a soaking wet prayer.

He impressed Hosea 14 in response, so I scurried there and skimmed the first two verses until this one leapt at me:

“For in You the fatherless finds mercy” (Hosea 14:3, NKJV).

I’ve never aspired to be fatherless and felt way too young for the label. Isn’t there a verse somewhere, detailing the minimum age requirement to certify one as fatherless—something like it shalt only happen after thou art Medicare-eligible?

Maybe not.

The point is, God is a nurturing Father. He knew where each verse existed in His Word and which one would soothe me in that particular moment of distress. God didn’t comfort my grief by sermonizing me regarding heaven’s existence and how I’d reunite with my father there.

He instead pinpointed a verse that communicated two simple truths:

First, He knew about me and my new (and unwanted) fatherless status.

And second, I qualified for His mercy because of the above point.

God was telling me that He not only knew about my present pain, but also promised to protect my future—because His mercy endures forever (Psalm 136).

I opted to publicize my private encounter with the Lord because God doesn’t play favorites (Acts 10:34, Romans 2:11). If He bandaged my father wounds tenderly, you can expect Him to nurse yours as gently.

But will you give God a chance to woo you?

Please consider the request in light of Paul’s words. “You have received the Spirit of full acceptance, enfolding you into the family of God. And you will never feel orphaned, for as he rises up within us, our spirits join him in saying the words of tender affection, ‘Beloved Father!’ For the Holy Spirit makes God’s fatherhood real to us as he whispers into our innermost being, ‘You are God’s beloved child!’” (Romans 8: 15-16, TPT).

Photo Credit: © Unsplash/Jude Beck

Audrey Davidheiser, PhD is a California licensed psychologist, certified Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapist, and IFSI-approved clinical consultant. After founding and directing a counseling center for the Los Angeles Dream Center, she now devotes her practice to survivors of trauma—including spiritual abuse. If you need her advice, visit her on www.aimforbreakthrough.com and Instagram @DrAudreyD.