Daddy…?

“Daddy, when is Mommy coming back?” a 4 year-old Esther asks.

Esther’s mom left two nights ago. She marched down the stairs and out the door with a packed suitcase and duffel—one of gray leather, the other of black canvas. Esther had just woken up from a nap. She rubs her eyes, her favorite yellow blanket trailing behind her. She watches her younger brother jump out of Grandma’s arms and chase the other woman—the one who gave birth to him. The little boy runs barefoot into the wet grass. Her older brother hides behind Grandpa. Her dad tugs his wife’s sleeves, his heels digging into the dirt, “Please,” he begs, “Stay.”

“Daddy, do you still love Mommy?” 8 year-old Esther asks, looking up at her father, her almond-shaped eyes searching his face for an answer. 

Esther’s dad shifts some papers around. The muscles in his upper back tighten. His teeth grind against one another. He looks at the loose strands of hair that have fallen out of his daughter’s ponytail. Then her peach-colored t-shirt where he notices the tiniest of holes in the fabric right by her collarbone. And finally he looks into her eyes. He wanted to say something good. He wanted her to hear something good. He really wanted her to hear something good that day.

“Daddy, am I going to be okay?” asks a 22 year old Esther, who’s battling her first episode of depression.

Esther’s dad takes his daughter for a walk after dinner. Where is that girl with the smile that always lit up the room? She’s not here right now. As his daughter curls her fragile fingers around the fleshy part of his right hand, squeezing tight and not wanting to let go, he remembers the baby girl she once was—the one who needed him for diaper changes and food; bath time and bedtime.

“Daddy, are you ready?” Esther asks 2 years later, preparing the TV for movie night.

Its been 20 years since Esther’s mom marched down those stairs and out the door. Its been over 10 years since she asked her dad that piercing question about Mommy with those longing eyes. And it’s been 2 years since that walk in the park, where the late evening shadows danced around the heavy darkness plaguing her mind, heart, and soul. But now as Esther’s dad makes his way into the living room, he sees that girl throw herself into the couch beside him, ready to laugh and light up the room again with her smile. He takes a seat in the sturdy wooden chair on her left. His shoulders loosen as he leans back. “I’m ready,” he announces with a nod.