Letter to a father

As I sit here, numb with pain, I remember everything; the good and the bad. I find my mind switching from one memory to the next. Oh, how I’ve hurt you. The things I’ve said, the things I’ve done. I disappointed you to the point of severance. Not because you turned me away, but because I was too ashamed to face you, to look you in the eye. Regret is a nasty thing; hell’s torment, an ever-lasting punishment. You know I never meant to hurt you? Funny how we hurt the ones we love the most.

But you hurt me too! You chose her over me. What would mother say? But would you care? You hurt her too. She was dying. You let her die alone. Where were you? Where were you when we needed you most? Where were you when the pain gripped mother so hard she’d wet the bed? Did you love her less when the medicine began to change her? Did the swelling from the cortisone disgust you? She cried me awake most every night – alone, in pain, afraid. Where were you? Loneliness is a killing thing. It sucks the spirit right out of you and then tosses you aside like the worthlessness that you are.

But then I remember how you adored my children. From the moment my first was born, how you’d sneak out the house to come visit, always bearing gifts. Cuddling them, sitting them on your lap, each on a knee, feeding them tales with a handful of sweets; how you walked to school in the snow; your first job; when you lost your fingers to an aeroplane propeller. They’d hang on your lips and soak up everything you said. How my heart would swell with affection to watch you. Love is a wonderful thing. It heals all wounds. It forgives every wrong doing. It forgets.

You were always there for me; every time I messed up, you’d always let me come back home. I’d never stand it for very long because of her, but to know that you invited me into your home, time after time, really meant something. Even so, I think, all I ever wanted was a little recognition. I wanted you to choose me over her. I wanted you to take my side. I wanted you to put her in her place and invite me into your special circle. How I spent my days, imagining how the sunlight bounced off of the skin of the chosen few in that inner circle, longing for that feeling – sunlight – bouncing off my skin. Jealousy is a devilish thing; it turns even the nicest of people into demons. It fills our hearts with hate and vile.

Before I had a chance to really make things right – work my way into your circle, you started to slip away. How my heart ached. You were so close, yet you went a little further every day. I’d run after you, reaching out, calling for you and at first, you’d turn around and see me. You’d come back, and reach for me. But there came a day; you didn’t recognise my voice; you didn’t remember your name. You turned, looked me in the eye, and asked who I was. How my heart split in two. Before I could ever get too close, you slipped away. Day after day, I’d watch, I’d call, but it was in vain. Further and further you’d go, till no longer you were. Disease is a heart-wrenching thing. As it eats away at its victim, so too, it eats away at the world; friendships, relationships, family – chewing away at the cords that bind us together, like a cancer.

Funny how I lost you, all those years ago, yet here I sit today, with the sorrow of a thousand widows hanging on my heart, because you finally broke free. You escaped purgatory. You found freedom. The idea should have me rejoicing, but here I am, tears flowing down my cheeks and breathless jerks stealing my composure. How I loved you my dear father. How I loved you, and you will never know. Knowledge is a strange thing. How do we know when we’re better off with or without it?  I want you to know father.

I want you to know.