• Dear Dad

    by  • April 3, 2010 • Parents, Those Gone Before Us • 0 Comments

    I cannot count the nights I have lied awake and wondered what you were doing. Did you watch the same TV shows that night that I had? Did we unknowingly have the same dinner? What was the last thing you thought of before you fell asleep? What haunts me the most is the wish that you think of me too.

    I know you think you are doing me a favor by staying out of my life- but you’re not. I grew up in hell while you raised two daughters in a stable, church-going home. I went to bed some nights without dinner; they went to private school. What did I do to deserve this?

    I don’t think I realized how much I would miss growing up without a father until it was too late. I woke up one morning a young adult with low self-esteem and an underlying need to make every male pay for the hurt you had caused and the hole that had been created.

    I wish you could know that I turned out alright. I wish you could see that I have your eyes. I wish you would tell me that you’re proud of who I became. I wish I could let you know I forgive you.

    Most of all, I wish you hadn’t died. I wish that I would have told you I loved you as I sat next to you on your deathbed.

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