It's been a few days since my father died. I did not tell anyone about it when I first found out, except my six-year old daughter. The news meant nothing to her. This was the grandfather she never knew, just as he was the father I never really knew.He left our family when I was about four years old, too young to realize what his departure meant.

I finally acknowledged his death after receiving so many e-mails of condolences. Friends back home had seen the obituary in the newspaper. Like the decent people they are, they immediately wrote to comfort me, assuming that like most people in the world,  I would be grief-stricken by the death of a father.

Instead, I feel an empty numbness, a sadness that does not grieve the death of a person but rather the non-presence of this person in my life.

But no. My father was present in my life. He was in the anger and bitterness that ate away at my mother for many years. It seemed like she viewed her life from only one perspective--that of a single, struggling, abandoned mother. She took pride that she never brought shame to our family by being with any other man, even after her husband deserted her. It was a different time, and a different place.

My father was present in my life, as I divorced my husband and ended what had become a cold and loveless marriage. Before that decision to divorce, I spent many moments debating if I should stay in that marriage, to spare my child the difficulties that I knew came when parents part ways.

After the decision to divorce came, I told myself that my child should not have to suffer the way I and my sisters did. Whatever came between me and my ex-husband, my daughter should not be deprived of a father who loves and adores her, and who will stay as an active father, no matter how difficult the circumstances are. This is why despite everything, my respect for my ex-husband remains.

My father was also present, when I made decisions to turn my back on certain people.

I summoned up the images of two men: the father who was not there, and the man I considered my father--my uncle, who I called Daddy. In my mind, Daddy would ask, "Would this man care for you forever? Would this man protect you and love you, and protect and love your child as if she were his own? Would this man be there for you if you were to fall sick?"

These were the things Daddy did for our family, as he stepped in to fulfill some of the duties that my father left behind. Daddy taught me to value learning and intelligence, as he patiently sat and helped me with my homework. Daddy taught me that it was all right to indulge a worthwhile hobby, as he bought me an endless supply of comic books and books, to encourage my passion for reading. He didn't buy me dolls or worthless trinkets, but I did have encyclopediae.

My mother felt Daddy spoiled me rotten. But why not, if I was growing up almost unsupervised, without a father and with a mother too preoccupied with work.    

Daddy has long passed. He died when I was seven. Even then, I knew I had lost my real father. His presence in my life made a deep impression on me. It is because of him that I can define what a father is, and what a man can be.  

These two fathers though now both gone, will still be present as I navigate my life, and that of my child's. I thank God that my ex-husband is a good father to his daughter. I vow to give him every opportunity to be so. They should not go through what I did with my own father.

My two fathers still guide me, telling me that I have choices. I do not have to be with people who, like my father, live their lives only for themselves. I can choose to be with those who, like Daddy, have more than enough love in their hearts and their lives to share.