{"id":1762,"date":"2026-08-02T11:39:46","date_gmt":"2026-08-02T11:39:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/commercialrelocationpros.com\/?p=1762"},"modified":"2026-08-02T11:39:46","modified_gmt":"2026-08-02T11:39:46","slug":"taking-care-of-the-father-who-broke-my-heart","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/commercialrelocationpros.com\/?p=1762","title":{"rendered":"Taking Care of the Father Who Broke My Heart"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

A few hours after<\/span> Levi Fishback died last month, at a nursing home in Kentucky, the funeral director called me. She needed to know whether the family wanted an open casket. What songs would Levi have wanted? What color flowers? Who should give the eulogies?<\/p>\n

Read more A Rodeo That Reminds Me of Home<\/a><\/p>\n

By now I should be used to being asked questions about my father that I don\u2019t know the answers to. I spent the past four years as his medical proxy, the only family member responsible for handling the bills from the nursing home and overseeing his care. But I barely knew the man. I felt uncomfortable deciding whether the nurses should give him a flu shot every fall, let alone choosing what to put in his obituary. I needed to include photos, but I had only one: from my fourth or fifth birthday. I messaged his ex-wife and the stepdaughter he\u2019d raised, along with my half brother\u2019s two children, for more, and they delivered, sending photos of my dad\u2014smiling widely in a suit and tie\u2014alongside them at graduations and family parties. I didn\u2019t know that he\u2019d had that much joy inside of him.<\/p>\n

My memories of my dad are like a few scatterplots on the graph of my life. He had lived right across town from me in Lexington, Kentucky, but he would go months without visiting me. From the ages of 10 to 14, I don\u2019t think I saw him a single time. He had his own family\u2014his wife, his stepdaughter, and his son from a previous relationship. When he and his wife got married, his son was the ring bearer and her daughter was the flower girl. I wasn\u2019t a flower girl at the wedding. I didn\u2019t go to the wedding. I didn\u2019t even know about the wedding. They had a piano in their living room that his stepdaughter played. She is a year older than me and went to a rival high school. I would see her sometimes\u2014she was a cheerleader, and she had all the name-brand clothes that the pretty, popular girls wore.<\/p>\n

My mom, Trina, was addicted to crack for years and had struggled to take care of me and her four younger kids. Levi must have known it. Once, when I was about 7 or 8, he came to my mom\u2019s door. It had been a bad week, or a bad few weeks. My mom had gone out\u2014I\u2019m not sure when or where\u2014and I was alone with my four little brothers and sisters. Our refrigerator was empty. Dirty plates and clothes lay around, broken toys all over the place. We were untamed children who did what we wanted\u2014my brother Colby was always trying to do backflips off the arm of the couch.<\/p>\n

Maybe my dad had heard on the streets that Trina\u2019s kids needed help. Or maybe it was a random visit. I was jittery when we opened the door to him. He was a short man with thick eyebrows that dominated his face, but in our eyes, he was a hero. We knew he would help us, because drugs didn\u2019t control his life; he wasn\u2019t damaged like Trina; he was a man who took care of a wife and children. He would recognize our fear and desperation. He stepped inside but stayed close to the door. He looked around like one of the social workers the government sometimes sent, and we huddled around him, watching him judge the mess with his eyes. And then he left. He said he\u2019d come back for me, but he didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

Plenty of people my age are beginning to take care of sick or aging parents. It\u2019s the natural way; you take care of the people who once took care of you. You don\u2019t resent it, because now you\u2019re the strong one, and they\u2019re the vulnerable one, and you owe them everything. But for me, it wasn\u2019t like that.<\/p>\n

When I was 9, <\/span>I was sent to stay with my aunts. While I was gone, the state took my siblings away from Trina; my sister went to an aunt and my brothers were put in foster care. I moved back to Lexington for the fifth grade, and my grandmother took me in\u2014I don\u2019t remember anyone ever suggesting that I could stay with my father. I have one memory of him from that year I came back: For some reason, he showed up at my school and found me in the lunch line. He handed me some money and then pulled me toward him for a hug. I was embarrassed by his affection and don\u2019t think I embraced him back.<\/p>\n

I lived with my grandmother until I graduated from high school. Levi would call sometimes. \u201cJenisha, get the phone. It\u2019s yo daddy,\u201d she\u2019d shout. I\u2019d rush to the phone\u2014toddler-excited to hear from him. A call from my father was like Christmas. Sometimes he\u2019d ask if I wanted him to pick me up the next day, and so I\u2019d spend hours waiting for him to drive up the driveway. Occasionally he would actually show, but usually he wouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

Once, in middle school, I spent a weekend with him and his wife. I made up a lie: I told his wife that I\u2019d skipped a grade in elementary school. I wanted her to like me and think I was smart; I didn\u2019t think it was a big deal. But a few hours after he\u2019d dropped me back off at my grandmother\u2019s, he called me. He\u2019d found out about the lie and gave me a long lecture, and then a punishment: \u201cYou can\u2019t come over here no more,\u201d he told me. I was surprised he was angry. After all, he lied to me all the time\u2014about being on his way to pick me up, about how he would drop off spending money for my field trip or take me back-to-school shopping. But this time he stuck to his word: I didn\u2019t hear from him for a few years after that.<\/p>\n

A month before I graduated from college, in 2008, I was in an evening class when he called my cellphone. He and his wife had gotten divorced by then. I stepped out to the hallway to answer. He was calling to tell me that he had a condition, and his doctor said there was a test I could take to see whether I had the \u201csame gene.\u201d He didn\u2019t say what it was, and I didn\u2019t ask any follow-up questions, because he swiftly changed the subject. \u201cYou graduating?\u201d he asked, although he knew the answer. I wasn\u2019t surprised when he didn\u2019t ask about the details of the ceremony. He just spouted some compliments: \u201cMan, you graduating. You good with that English. You gotta be real smart to do English in school.\u201d He hadn\u2019t come to my high-school graduation, and he didn\u2019t come to this one, either.<\/p>\n

I graduated, packed my bags, and left Kentucky to move to New York City. I was building a new life, and I thought about him only when a guy dumped me. If my own father thought I was worthless and didn\u2019t want to stay in my life, how could I expect a romantic partner to want me?<\/i> I measured my value by his absence.<\/p>\n

Sometimes he\u2019d send me a corny text, something that I couldn\u2019t imagine him ever actually saying: \u201cI love you like a fat kid loves cake,\u201d he wrote once. I treated it like spam. I didn\u2019t see him again until 2015.<\/p>\n

By then he had moved to an assisted-living place and was using a walker to get around. His speech was slurred, and his hands shook. I took him out to the all-you-can-eat buffet at Golden Corral. Most of the time, he just smiled, showing his chipped and missing teeth. Later, I heard that his illness was getting worse and that my half brother was taking care of him.<\/p>\n

I never quite knew why my brother had lived with our dad and I hadn\u2019t. Maybe Levi was just proud to have a son, and what he felt about me was shame\u2014shame that he was connected to a woman like my mom, a crack addict. Lexington is a small town, and Levi never smoked or used drugs. He\u2019d always claimed that my mom was a one-night stand.<\/p>\n

But my brother had his own problems. He was involved in selling drugs, and then in 2022, he disappeared. He told me one thing before he left: \u201cNow it\u2019s your turn.\u201d<\/p>\n

I had questions about Levi\u2019s bills and care, but no one could reach my brother. I understood why last year, when he was apprehended and sent to Blackburn Correctional Complex. He\u2019d been on the run from the Lexington police\u2014wanted for trafficking cocaine, fleeing or evading police, and possessing a firearm.<\/p>\n

As far as I know he was in touch with Levi only once in those years, when he texted my dad\u2019s ex-wife a message for our dad, and she shared the message with me: \u201cTell him I said I love him and miss him.\u201d I read that message over and over again, wondering what it would be like to love our dad and miss him. Obviously, my brother knew a different side of Levi. I wanted to love him, too, but it was like trying to touch the air. Yet if I didn\u2019t take care of him, who would?<\/p>\n

At times, I resented my brother for what he\u2019d had in the past, and for not being around now. Like when the nursing home called to say there had been \u201ca little smoke incident with one of our dryers and the fire department came here to evacuate.\u201d Or when a nurse left me a voicemail: \u201cJust checking in for the care-plan meeting.\u201d I resented him, and I resented Levi. But I called the nurse back. I went to the meetings. Whenever I went back to Kentucky, I made a point to visit my father. But I didn\u2019t do any more than I felt I had to.<\/p>\n

I thought of Levi sometimes as a stranger sleeping at a bus stop. The idea of walking away from him felt cruel\u2014but also liberating. I once wasn\u2019t able to care for myself, and walked away from me too.<\/p>\n

Read more Fauci\u2019s Return to Capitol Hill<\/a><\/p>\n

Levi was a professional gambler <\/span>who shot dice and bet on horses. He spent most of his time at the Red Mile Racetrack wagering on standardbreds galloping around the track, or on the simulcast of races around the country that played inside. He took me a few times when I was little, and I remember him staring at the screen, like an airline traveler scanning for their final destination.<\/p>\n

But most of what I know about Levi I know from other people. When people learned that he was my father, they always had a story to tell. His nickname was Sonny, and he earned real money at the track, sometimes leaving with bundles of cash. I\u2019ve heard stories of him handing out crisp $100 bills like Monopoly money, or treating a group to breakfast after winning. He was also known to cheat at dice sometimes, by playing with altered dice.<\/p>\n

He was estranged from his brother and sister. Their youngest brother had killed himself when he was 18. He\u2019d used Levi\u2019s pistol to do it, and my surviving uncle, Kenny, never forgave him for it. Kenny has told me a little more over the years. Levi ran track even though he was \u201ca short motherfucker,\u201d he told me\u2014which interested me, because I was a runner too, and I was fast. I always wondered where I\u2019d got it from. The truth is Kenny couldn\u2019t stand him. \u201cYour daddy ain\u2019t shit,\u201d he\u2019d say. \u201cIt seems like a man would look out for his daughter.\u201d<\/p>\n

More recently, I learned about Levi from his nurses. His favorite soda was Pepsi. He loved soft sweets, such as an oatmeal pie. And last year, during a meeting with his care team, I finally learned what his diagnosis was: a form of cerebellar ataxia, a degenerative neurological condition that can be inherited. I thought back to that call from so many years ago, when he had told me I could take a genetic test to find out whether I was at risk. But I didn\u2019t take the test. I still haven\u2019t. I\u2019m afraid. And the last thing I want to think about is whether we share the same gene.<\/p>\n

I saw him in April, when I had to fly back to Kentucky for the funeral of another family member. The drive to the nursing home was long, and I was glad\u2014it gave me time to prepare to see this man who was almost a stranger to me. I passed old gas stations, homes with acres of grass, a fresh eggs for sale<\/span> sign hanging on a residential mailbox. I thought about how I didn\u2019t know the sound of his laugh, how I wouldn\u2019t have been able to describe his voice.<\/p>\n

The woman at the front desk greeted me: \u201cHi, Jenisha.\u201d The other nurses just called me \u201cLevi\u2019s daughter.\u201d They probably assumed we had a normal relationship, that he was a normal parent, and here I was, their patient\u2019s \u201cloved one,\u201d doing my normal duty.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re the only person who comes to see him,\u201d a nurse told me. Maybe she was trying to make me feel proud. But I just felt sad. His ex-wife and stepdaughter visited now and then, but not regularly. Where were all of the people he\u2019d been close with in Kentucky? How was I the only one there, when he was notorious for breaking my heart?<\/p>\n

I walked to his room, which he shared with another man, a curtain dividing the space. The television was on\u2014an old black-and-white cowboy movie\u2014but there was no sound. The person in the bed was nothing like the Levi from my childhood, slick-talking and arrogant. He was fragile and could barely lift his head up. He struggled to drink from a straw, and I watched as his mouth kept missing the hole.<\/p>\n

Sitting beside him, I dug for emotion, wanting to feel what another kind of daughter would feel. I felt like I was in a movie myself, an actress in a father-daughter scene. Kisses on my forehead. Talks about my first boyfriend. My daddy\u2014who saw me as the most beautiful girl in the world\u2014always wanted his darling daughter close to him. \u201cDon\u2019t leave,\u201d he\u2019d say. \u201cStay as long as you want.\u201d <\/i><\/p>\n

But all I really felt was nervous. Even though my father couldn\u2019t speak or stand, even though he had shrunk to 77 pounds and was smaller than I was, being near him still turned me back into that scared little girl hoping for scraps. At one point I asked: \u201cDo you love me? Nod your head if you do.\u201d He responded by moving his head up and down. Watching him use up all of his strength to answer me filled me with a childlike high. At last, he wasn\u2019t going to reject me anymore.<\/p>\n

But only a few minutes later, he lifted his hand and flapped it at me. He made the gesture again. I realized he was shooing me away. I couldn\u2019t believe it. \u201cAre you ready for me to leave?\u201d I asked. He nodded yes.<\/p>\n

Even at his most vulnerable, even when he was utterly alone in the world, he was still turning me away.<\/p>\n

Last month,<\/span> the nursing home called at 4:39 a.m. \u201cHe died peacefully,\u201d the nurse told me.<\/p>\n

The day before, I\u2019d talked to Levi on FaceTime and I saw how sunken he looked. Even as he was transitioning, I had little to say to him. \u201cI love you. Are you ready to see your mom?\u201d He nodded.<\/p>\n

I arranged for other family members to FaceTime, too, and the prison helped set up a call for my brother. The nurse told me that they both were crying. I kept asking her: \u201cDid you tell him that I made it happen? What did my brother say?\u201d My ego wanted them to know that I had made the call possible. I pictured both of them crying. All I could think was: Damn, I wish I could feel what my brother was feeling<\/i>.<\/p>\n

We scheduled the funeral for July 3, two days after my brother would be released from prison. I decided against the open casket. Levi\u2019s body was twisted into the fetal position. To get him into an open casket, the funeral director told me, she\u2019d have to break his legs, arms, and fingers. \u201cI don\u2019t want to do that to Levi,\u201d she said. For weeks, I couldn\u2019t decide whether or not to go to the funeral. My mom said I shouldn\u2019t feel like I had to: \u201cLevi didn\u2019t show up for a lot of things for you,\u201d she reminded me. Paying my respects seemed like the right thing to do. But more than that, a part of me wanted to prove that I was the bigger person. I wanted others\u2014his family, his stepdaughter\u2014to lay eyes on me, and to see that I\u2019d made something of myself in spite of his absence. I wanted them to know that I\u2019d been his emergency contact, the one who took care of him in the end. But the day before, I stayed home. I decided that I would watch it on Facebook Live.<\/p>\n

The truth is that I wasn\u2019t mourning my father; I was grieving the loss of what I\u2019d never had. I didn\u2019t cry when he died. But when I heard the speech that his stepdaughter gave at the funeral, the feelings hit me. Like me, she was a runner, and they used to go on jogs together. Someday, she said, she believed she would see Levi in heaven. \u201cCome on,\u201d he\u2019d tell her, \u201clet\u2019s race,\u201d and off they would go again. She said that Levi left her with many happy moments. And that\u2019s when I cried.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll never understand why he didn\u2019t show up in my life, but I have to stop asking. There was a brief chapter of his life when he needed me, a period when he might have recognized me as someone who was important to him. I still wanted to please him, wanted him to see for himself that he\u2019d made a terrible mistake by not being my father. And now that chapter is over.<\/p>\n

Read more Look Closer: David Hockney\u2019s Rules of Beauty<\/a><\/p>\n<\/section>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I barely knew him. But in the last years of his life, he needed me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1761,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1762","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-ideas"],"yoast_head":"\nTaking Care of the Father Who Broke My Heart - Commercial Relocation Pros<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/commercialrelocationpros.com\/?p=1762\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Taking Care of the Father Who Broke My Heart - Commercial Relocation Pros\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"I barely knew him. 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