My children have never met their grandfather. I haven’t seen my father in 21 years. My 9-year-old son plays on three different baseball teams. Managing his schedule feels like facing pitch after pitch: three uniforms, three locations, and three different bats. I am constantly engaged in a cycle of sorting, washing, and preparing. I pack coolers and chairs, and a backpack with arts and crafts for his 6-year-old sister to share with other siblings.

Watching my son on the mound stirs a mix of emotions. “You got this, take a deep breath,” I shout from the sidelines. When he strikes out, I want to comfort him, and when he succeeds, I share in his joy. I often feel a void, an absence, one fewer person to text game day photos to. I search the crowd, hoping to see a familiar face—a man keeping an eye out for foul balls. Sometimes I think I see my dad, but it’s just my mind playing tricks.

My father loved baseball and taught me all about it. He was present at every game, offering support and guidance. He cheered when we won and encouraged me when we lost. Our bond through the game was special.

But it ended. My parents divorced after 18 years of marriage when I was 19. They moved from California in search of new beginnings. Eight months after the move, I received an email from my dad saying, “Have a nice life. I love you, but I won’t ever see you again.” It felt like the end of everything I knew.

I wonder what my kids would call him if they knew him. I can’t introduce them to him because of the pain involved. I often ask myself if they feel the absence. Does it affect their behavior or come out in other ways?

There is no guidebook on how to explain an estranged parent to children. No easy roadmap exists for addressing a broken father-daughter relationship. Research shows family estrangement is isolating and complex to heal. A 2022 YouGov poll shows 29% of Americans have experienced family estrangement.

My son has never questioned the absence of a grandfather, partly because there are no photos. Yet remnants of my past dot our home, like a childhood bucket of baseballs or my high school glove inscribed with my maiden name. The grandfather they know is my stepfather, PopPop, who embodies the role perfectly.

In my mind, I’ve rehearsed many versions of how I’ll tell them about my dad. I imagine saying, “I haven’t seen my dad in a long time. He was a great dad until his issues separated us. I probably won’t ever see him again.” I trust my children would respond with understanding and curiosity.

Sharing this story might protect me more than them. I wonder if this makes me a better mom. I question if withholding the story will stop the aching, if it even matters to them.

Despite planning for this conversation, I realize my children’s lives are well-supported by our present family. Questions like “Is PopPop coming to my game?” ground me. At the end of the day, I remind myself that their lives are filled with love and presence.

Maybe my children already have everything they need. Maybe the void I feel was never empty for them. But I remain unsure if I’ll ever feel complete without my dad.