Letters I wish I sent ● Dear Dad

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My heart is heavy with unspoken words that are begging to come out. It's been years since I have heard from you. Even longer since I have seen you. And as much as I have stubbornly stated that I don't need you; I have come to an uncomfortable realisation.

I do.

And I hate you for it. I hate that you left. I hate that it has affected me. I hate that I cannot let go. I hate that I can't move forward because of you.

I think about you every day. More and more lately. It's frustrating. I don't want to think about you. You don't deserve it, not one little bit. But I can't stop.

You're that one home video that got stuck in the VCR and won't stop repeating itself. Like a bad horror movie.

Maybe it's because I just had a baby.

Did you know you're a grandfather? Do you even care?

I want you to care. It would be nice to know that you do. Isn't that sad? I hate myself for saying it and that makes me hate you even more.

I hate that I still crave your approval! I hate that I still need you to say how proud you are of me. I hate that you still have that power over me.

You left, Dad. Years ago. You left me. You left us. And as much as Mum has tried to explain; my soul won't accept it. My brain rejects every logical reason. My heart still feels rejected.

Mum, Daniel, and every  psychologist I have ever seen keeps telling me it's not my fault. That I was three years old. That I should not take it personally.

But, I do.

I do realise that people get divorced every day. I'm fully aware that a lot of relationships don't work out. These are the facts of today's world.

But, fathers still see their daughters.

You could still have seen me. There was nothing stopping you.

That's what gets me.

You chose not to.

Why, Dad? What did I do? What could a three-year-old have possibly done? Why were you not there to protect me?

Mum tried.

She still cries when we talk about what happened after you left. She still feels guilty. She still blames herself for not being there when it happened.

But she was there afterwards. She picked up the pieces. She held my hand. She was there for me.

You were not.

I wish I could understand why, but I can't. I wish I had a reason, but I don't. I wish I could forgive you, but I can't. I wish I would forgive myself, but I won't.

I can't. It's impossible.

Just as impossible as forgetting you. How can you forget someone you can't remember?

I still have that photo of us together.

It's bittersweet.

You held me in your arms. We were outside. It was a sunny day. We were smiling. Happy. Together. In that single, captured moment, I was whole.

Was that the last time you held me? Do you even remember that a photo was taken? Did you put me down and walk out that day? What made you do it? Could I have made you stay?

There's so much more I need to ask you, Dad. There's so much more I need to say. But, I can't. Not right now.
My husband just came home, and he doesn't know I'm writing. I'm not sure he'll understand.

So, it will have to wait for the next letter.