3 years

Dad,
This very simply is a letter I’ll never send because it’ll never again have an address to send it to. The letter would never get to be received by you. You are gone. You’ve been gone for three years and there are three years of letters I’d like to send to you. One letter for every day you’ve missed so far and one extra just for good measure. I’d also like to write you a letter for your last day you spent because if I had known it was your last day… there’s so much I would have said. I would have looked you in the eye and tried to find it in my core to forgive you. I would have summoned all the courage I had to tell you that I knew what you had done and that I forgave you anyways. I would have written you such a letter that you wouldn’t have known what to do with it. I don’t. I don’t know what to do with the letter I never sent. I don’t know what to do with the letter I never will send. There’s a hole in my world where you used to be and as hard as I try I don’t think I could ever write enough letter that would explain what you meant to me. You meant so many different things. You were my hero, my idol, my dream, but you were also my warning, my monster, my nightmare. You ruined things as quickly as you created them and the worst part is I don’t even think you saw it. You always told me how smart I was and how I was so like you but you couldn’t even see that I knew everything I knew. This letter honestly has no point, because it is being written to a dead man that wouldn’t recognize the point if it was staring at him for twenty years dressed in jeans and a leather jacket holding a letter that the point would never send.