An Open Letter to Daddy/2009-2013

There were gems in our relationship. All of the long distance telephone conversations we had over the last couple of years are my cherished memories of you. I just needed more from you than you were willing to offer. You were the most important man in my life, since I never married. You had always been the most significant man in my life. For this reason, with everything I have written this is why your distance has been such a wound.

Looking through photo albums we were not in many photographs together. There are reasons why, I suppose, the most glaring one of all is that you and I were simply not in the same places together. My siblings, especially my brothers have more pictures with you. You have so many photos with distant relatives, even. But I am sure those photographs do not mean as much to them as they would have to me. But it is what you chose for your life, to surround yourself with the people you did.

I have appreciated all of the many conversations we had. You had such knowledge of history and movies. Whenever I would preach to you, you said, you believed in Jesus. “You just wouldn’t go to church with hypocrites.” We had such rich dialogue as well as carefree silly ones. You always ended every phone call, with “I love you,” whether you meant to or not your heart opened up in many of those conversations. This is why I got attached to you all over again. This is why I raised my hopes for a deeper relationship with you. I wrongly guessed you wanted to see me since we talked so much over the telephone.

Your sense of humor never changed, even when I was a child. Your heart was so complicated, daddy you have such a funny side to you. This is what was so disturbing to me. Yet, this was what was so magical about you. I have wept in not spending more time with this person. It has caused me great pain not being able to visit with you. But, you knew why I couldn’t.

More than your great talent as an artist was your sense of humor, to me that was your real genius. You made me laugh, and smile, even when I was sad over the phone. You always broke in with that beautiful wit. It wasn’t hard or cynical it was genuine and child-like at times. I loved your voice, your laugh that zest for life that came in your 60’s.

I want to write to you that I enjoyed our conversations and our time on Red Bubble. I am glad I took your suggestion to join this art site 4 years ago. You joined in April, and I joined in July. We both had a passion to create. This was the part of you none of your other children, nor family could claim. For the first time we were peers. You asked advice on your writing, and would e-mail me things you had written daddy, how I was honored that you valued my opinion as your peer. Every time I asked you or bubble mailed you, you used your amazing talent to create banners for my group, Mustard Seeds.

Despite everything, you always took the time to talk to me. ___________________________________________________________

I remember when you fell off a scaffold a few years ago at work and almost died. It seemed to reveal to you that you were not going to live forever. You were in the hospital for weeks. I called you every day. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise, even though all of your ribs were broken. I saw vulnerability in you again, and I reached out. It was then that I let myself get close to you again. I guess I had no shame, believing it would be different this time. Once again the little girl crawled out of the woman.

There was an obsession of wanting what was not there. Still I followed my hopes to jagged cliffs, only to be pushed over again by your indifference. There was that rusty dream, I desperately clung to.

Didn’t you understand I always wanted you to be a father to me? Not an uncle, or good friend, or even a brother but a father, who saw that I still needed him. I still needed you, since Emma, your granddaughter suffered from bipolar disorder, and I had to raise her alone. You know the abuse I still suffered. But you have flown away. The past was something you never wanted to talk about. As far as you were concerned we were never those people who had been a family. Nor was I the first born daughter in those dreams.

You would come into town with Cathy, and visit my brother Jimmy, your parents, sister, brother, cousins, and nephews. I didn’t mind so much that you would visit Jimmy or your parents. But I was always at the bottom of a very long list. Rarely would you come to visit me or your granddaughter Emma. You would stop by long enough to give me a twenty, and a good-bye. I even remarked, “Just throw a rock through my window, and wrap a $20 around it.” You thought I was kidding.

There were the times I would find out from a telephone conversation that you had blown through town without even stopping by to seeing me. You must have known I wanted to see you, you knew I couldn’t see you. I don’t own a car.

There were the hundreds of paintings you did. You never once painted your own daughters, Monica, Melissa, nor I. Yet, they have always known what I never wanted to face. There were all of the paintings and photographs of your stepdaughters Phoebe and Desi. Yes, I was jealous you were supposed to see me as more beautiful. You are my father. Even if they were more beautiful, a father is supposed to see his daughters through love. Beauty is supposed to be subjective, in the eyes of the beholder. I suppose you never thought I was beautiful.

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It’s been more than a week since I have called you. I even “unfriended” you on face book. I tired of seeing you post all of the paintings and photographs of your step daughters on face book. In truth, I was the one you treated as your stepdaughter.

There is a part of me that needs the acknowledgement that you hurt me. You have never really apologized or felt sorry for the way you treated momma, nor your children. You terrorized us for years. You beat her in front of our young eyes. I hated running next door to the neighbors, banging on their doors for help.

I pray you have asked God for forgiveness, even though you have never asked it from us. I have prayed that forgiving you would be absolute this time. I have asked God not to let me look back, so I can finally move on with my life, and forgive myself.

For years I have tried to be close to you. But you never really reciprocated those feelings for me. I love you, but it’s hard to love you. You always pushed me away. If you loved me at all, it was never the love of a father for a daughter.

I have written this not because I believe things will change between us. It is for me, so I can finally have some closure after all of these years of trying to be your daughter.

___________________________

Daddy died September 7, 2013. It came so suddenly. It pierced me. It left me numb it slapped me harder in the face than I had ever been hurt before. I loved you, I love you still. I regret the time we spent apart. Now, there is no way to fix what went wrong between us. There is that expectation that will never be fulfilled. I don’t want to blame you, “It is what it was”. But you were my daddy. You will always be my daddy always I carry your memory, always.

I didn’t publish this letter while you were still alive for fear of hurting you. Daddy, I didn’t publish this to dishonor your memory. More than anything, I need closure to finally let this deep wound, heal, and become a scar, that I will never pick at again.

I don’t know if I am angry with you. I have dreamed of you a couple of times, since your death. A death I still cannot accept.

There is never a way to prepare for death. Corrie ten Boom said,

“That God prepares us for the moment of our death. He gives us the resolve to face it bravely with Jesus by our side, gently leading us to the other side, the better side the peaceful side, where tears have subsided.

I had prayed for years that you would find Christ. I believe you did. You wept in your coma. I know Christ was with you, while you lay there dying.

This is what will give me peace.

P.S.-I will always love you and miss you.

Two doctors pronounced daddy brain dead on September 7, 2013, and that was it. Then they harvested his body for whatever organs they could get. His liver was all they got. I was quite surprised since daddy used to drink.