When my dad traded in his motorcycle shop after 50 years to hit the open road on a Harley, I felt like I’d been left behind. At 42, I was drowning in debt and struggling to secure a condo, relying on him for support. But instead of lending a helping hand, he chose freedom over family.
After Mom passed away, I assumed Dad would settle down, prioritize his grandkids and me. Not so. He dusted off his biker boots and returned to the thrill of the ride. When I asked for help with my financial struggles, he told me I was all grown up now and should be able to handle things on my own. This trip, he insisted, was a promise to Mom – a vow to keep living life to the fullest.
As the Harley disappeared into the horizon, I felt abandoned and angry. But before he left, Dad handed me a check from the sale of his shop, as if that would make everything okay.
It’s been tough coming to terms with Dad’s decision. I’m still trying to reconcile my disappointment with the realization that maybe – just maybe – he needed this journey more than I needed his help.