My father died a month ago. I just found out 53 minutes ago.

He died on April 30th. The funeral took place on May 9th. Two days after my birthday.

Maybe he died late at night on April 30th. If so, my father's side of the family would've started contacting people on May 1st. It would've been hard for them to get in touch with me — I took 3 planes that day: one to Boston, and then another to Denmark, and then another to Paris. My phone was constantly switching from airplane mode to service to roaming...

But when I got to the hotel in Paris — there were no missed calls or voicemails.

If I had've received a phone call. I would've wore the grief all through France. I would've carried it to Normandie, Brittany, and Loire-Valley. It would've clung to me on my birthday, and darkened the best birthday I've ever had. I wouldn't have made it to the funeral as I was in Loire-Valley. I would've spent May 9th — sad, confused and guilty, feeling like the worst daughter in the world for missing my estranged father's funeral.

It's probably best that I didn't know... Even though the silence from my father's side of the family feels hostile and aggressive, and not from a place of compassion.

I found out in a Walmart parking lot. I had been talking to my grandma on the phone after work, complaining about my coworkers — getting ready to head in and buy ingredients to make some mango salsa to go with my salmon, when my mom called my grandma. My grandma added her to the call.

My mom proceeds to tell me that my dad is dead like it's some hot piece of gossip that she overheard from the neighbours. She found out online from doing a quick google search. She hadn't received child support from him in a couple of months and got curious. A quick search showed his obituary.

A face that had aged fifteen years since I had last seen him and a white beard. He looked the same and different at the same time.

I don't even own any pictures of him. There's a picture of him and me from when I was 9 or 10 and him when he was in jail. Us next to each other. His arm around me. It was so awkward and weird, but now I crave that picture. That's how I remember him — young, fit, healthy and wearing that blue outfit.

In a spur of the moment decision, I just called my nana. I haven't talked to her in 10 years. But I want that picture and I know she has it. And I also know she made the decision not to tell me — she has my phone number — I've had the same phone number since I was 17.

She didn't answer, of course. But at least it rang. But I couldn't leave a voicemail because the voicemail box hadn't been set up. She's probably changed her number or something. I could go to her house. But that feels aggressive.

The only picture I have of him is the one online — that shitty car picture they used for his obituary. And that obituary is trash. It doesn't say anything about him or his children or anything about his life. It's so empty. Who the hell was responsible for writing that? God, they should've used AI — it would've been better than nothing at all.

And I know they probably didn't tell me — because they know that I cut them off. It was a series of events that led me to the decision that I didn't want to have close relationships with any of them — witnessing my father hurt his wife, my father refusing to pay for my study abroad trip even though he had the means, the shitty Christmas present that he gave me, no showing my performance, and then him not reaching out to me about my high school graduation.... the indignity of him questioning my paternity, leading to the DNA test.

I decided that I didn't need them and that I would never put myself in a position to need them again as an adult. And I've held true to that promise. I'm so self-sufficient someone should use me in a case study...

I never put my accomplishments in their face — but I also didn't let them know anything about me. I went on and did amazing things and didn't say a word to them. And I stand by my decision — I made the right decision. I was successful despite them.

But I can't help thinking that they intentionally left me out because I cut them off.

I just called my mom. She says that she thinks that she has the picture. She kept asking me if I wanted it. I kept saying yes. The third time she asked me, I got angry and said "I said yes, stopping asking me." I started to cry. silently. I'm so angry. Even the news of the picture didn't make me happy. She says she'll look for it tomorrow. Good. Good. Good. She thinks she has it in some boxes in her closet. I stop by her house tomorrow. And see.

I think I'm going to lay down, read or watch some tv. When I was shopping, tears kept leaking out and I didn't know why because I felt so numb in the store. I bought all this shit. Cookies, fries, chips.... why. I went in there to get stuff for mango salsa.

My cat knows I'm upset — she keeps jumping into my lap and rubbing against me.

Olivia