Yesterday was my Father's birthday. I haven't seen him for about 13 years now I suppose. He abandoned my mum, brother and I in the most acrimonious manner in 1999, after it was discovered that he was having an affair with a part-time typist who worked at the business and who is my age. The resulting fallout caused the most dreadful wound in the family which has continued to fester and effect his wife and children in an extraordinarily potent way, ever since. I always feel melancholy on this day irrespective of how hard I try to ignore it or shut it out. I am grieving, I suppose. Grieving for what I have lost, grieving for what could have been, as well as what was. Fundamentally, an unbreakable bond was broken. Something I was always told could never happen. Something that contradicted all the laws of nature, family, love, everything. A Father abandoned his sons. He told me he wished I was dead. This wasn't just a broken marriage, it was a completely broken family. He ...