My memories of you are sparse.
I can’t recall a day when you hugged me and told me that you loved me. I’m sure, in your own
way, that you did.
Unfortunately, your way was not my way.
I remember you hitting Mom. I remember you being drunk. I remember you saying you’d take
me to Disneyland - you never did.
I remember your ex-wives. I remember how much you gave to them. Your homes with them
were always lovely. Somewhere in me I think that it was your wives that supported you,
provided those homes, but that memory is vague as well.
I do remember that you loved your sons a great deal.
Unfortunately, I was your daughter.
They say that the father/daughter relationship is ... is ... I don’t know what it’s supposed to be.
All I know is that ours meant nothing to you.
You would pop in and out of my life and that was hard for me to understand. Why didn’t you
want to stay? Why didn’t you want me? Why didn’t you love me? Why didn’t you protect me?
When you were so ill, I came to you. I sat by your bedside. I took care that you were
comfortable, fed and cleaned.
One day as I sat by your side, you asked me to tell you about my life. I was stunned. It was
then that the reality of our relationship hit me and hit me hard. You had no idea who I was, not
really. You’d spent years asking your “boys” how I was.
I paused, if only briefly and began with, “Well, I’m 27 years old. I live in Big Bear Lake. I took
some college course ...” My voice trailed off. I could see the pain in your eyes.
It was never my intent to hurt you. I saw it as my time to let you know who I was, but your pain
had closed your ears. You didn’t want to know anymore, so I kept quiet and got you your
cigarettes.
When I made the decision to stop coming over and caring for you, it had nothing to do with
you. Yes, I know - you wanted me there. I recall that phone call, asking, pleading for me to
come back. But it was too late. Had you fought through the pain to get to know me, I would
have ran back to you. In spite of it all.
You didn’t know why I’d left and I would have gladly told you; if only to have had you hold me
and say that you were sorry. Sorry that you hadn’t been there. Sorry that I was left to be
abused.
Yet to have told you would have shaken your world. Would have made you face the
reality of the family you left behind. So I made the decision to not come back.
And that was the most selfish thing I have ever had done in my life.
I chose me.
As you were dying, I chose me.
I wasn’t willing to stay, if you didn’t know me. I wasn’t willing to be in “his” presence, if he was
your champion. Not when I knew the truth.
And you didn’t want the truth. You didn’t want to know.
So I chose me.
When the phone call came that you had passed away, I was more concerned about the others
in my family. Who would tell Mom? How was Tim going to deal with the loss? And poor
Suzanne who had come all that way and didn’t have the chance to say her good-byes.
I was numb to it all.
Not the loss of you, I didn’t even know you.
I was numb to the pain that your death was going to create in the others.
They were going to morn you!
And I had no idea why.
Who were you? No one to me, so how could you be anyone to them?
Didn't they know that you’d failed at being a parent, a father, a friend, my protector?
Didn’t they care about that?
I didn’t view you in the casket; I saw no reason to. That wasn’t my father in that adorned box.
As we filed out of the mortuary, I shook my sister-in-laws hand and said I was sorry. Like she
was the one who had lost someone dear!
Her eyes were filled with hatred toward me. I hadn’t come back to take care of you, so I was
the “bad seed”.
It took everything in me to not scream out the reason why.
You’d left me behind.
You’d left me to be abused by your champion.
You showed me that men hit the women they love and then leave their families.
You taught me ... nothing of value.
I had to learn life on my own.
I lived through the sexual abuse.
I lived through the beatings by someone who said they loved me..
I lived through the rape and the cancer(s).
I lived!
And now I am a survivor.
Why am I writing to you now?
Why am I telling you all of this?
Today I saw a father hug his grown daughter.
Today I saw the love in his eyes.
Today ... I missed my dad.
And I need a hug.