Happy Birthday Deva April 13, 2010
Posted by Conrad Hubbard in : The Chip , trackback
Eight years ago today I was standing in a hospital room in Nashville, Tennessee cutting the umbilical cord of a tiny little baby. Deva Alyssa Winter was born into the world, and I was standing there like every other nervous dad in the history of mankind. Except, that I am not Deva’s biological father. As luck would have it, I had met a woman and fallen in love with her, only to discover she was already pregnant. I almost jumped ship the moment that was revealed, but I thought that we were the right couple and that I should give it a chance. So I stuck it out with a long distance relationship as my then-girlfriend developed all of the signs of childbearing, and I made the drive from Atlanta to Nashville to visit her every weekend. Finally, there I was watching the miracle of birth.
The moment that I picked Deva up and cradled her in my arms, I was a changed person. Unlike many folks, I had never wanted the responsibility of children. I always figured that other people were better parents than I could ever be, and that it was just not something for me. When I held that tiny little girl, swaddled in layers of cloth, I felt the powerful protective instincts of millions of years of evolution sweep over me. Deva’s mother, Rachel, determined that she wanted to raise Deva to think of me as “Dad” and this seemed to work fairly well since Deva’s biological father basically disappeared to Canada and saw her only a single time shortly after her birth. I know he had his own life to live, and that is not for me to judge.
I fell in love with Deva, as a dad, and she took to me as well. I was the one she would usually call out for when she was sick. I was the one that read her bedtime stories, and typically drove her to daycare. As the years passed, when I came home from work, she would grab my hand and insist that I join her in playing with blocks, or her dolls and toy castle, carry her like I was a horse, all of the silly stuff that you do to make kids happy. Rachel used to call Deva a “daddy’s girl” because she would run to meet me when I got home from work, she would demand to go with me to the store, she would try to help me cook, she would even try to help me clean the house.
Sadly, when Deva was 5 years old, her mother took off and left me here. She initially encouraged me to keep in touch with Deva, and I would visit or call when I was allowed to do so. Eventually, for whatever reason, Deva’s mother Rachel cut off contact. Finally I discovered that Deva wasn’t even living with her mom, having been taken in by her paternal grandmother. I tried to reach out to her, but Rachel refused. I still try to reach out to Deva on holidays and her birthday, but her mom seems determined to block this.
Anyway, Deva, I tried again this year to get your mom to let me see you in person, or even just talk to you on the phone, and she ignored the request. I hope that someday you will at least know that I tried. I hope that you have had a happy birthday today, and that everything is going well for you.
Comments»
Divorce is ugly.
Let it go man.
Let it go.
Hm, interesting who I think posted that.
I know this post is a couple years old and such. I know what its like growing up without a dad. Even though you did not make her you were the best father she could have ever asked for. I hope that in time she can see that you did try. Good luck.