I remember little of my life before age six, and this was the time my mother and father were together. So I have very little memory of him. I have made up a past for myself in this stretch of time I can't recall. In this period of my life I imagine that my mother cooked dinner every night, my father gave me piggy back rides and we had a happy home. I would rather feel anger at having lost this happy childhood, than the sadness at never having had it at all. It is easier to direct that anger towards my mother, than to have any blame fall on my father. My father is my fallen hero, watching over me from above. Part of me knows there is blame on his part and that not everything is my mother's fault, but it's painful to start questioning the "whys" in my head when it comes to him.