Dear Dad,

So my therapsit tonight told me to write a letter.

She says "no blame"... . because sometimes we get caught up in how someone treated us.

It's a practice in letting go... . she suggested I write it and then bury it. Instead I thought I'd write it here.

Dear Dad,

I wish that I could have been who you wanted me to be. I sometimes wonder if I had been more successful in different ways, if you would have valued that.

Valued me.

I remember the time I won an award for my writing. You didn't attend the ceremony, my English teacher drove me. It's so funny how I remember she was a terrible driver. The Mayor was there and he shook my hand. It hurts my heart that you were too busy. It hurts that you didn't celebrate my writing - telling me that you were shocked that I actually won and that it was "remedial" at best.

Maybe it was jealousy because you failed in so many facets of your life. Maybe it was a natural instinct to put me down, since that's what your father always did to you. You put me down a lot.

I just know that it affects me today in feeling that I am just not good enough. It's that disapproving whisper in my head that reaks of the sentiment that I could be better. I should be better.

When all I'm doing is the best I can.

Dad.

I forgive you.

I release you of it being your fault and I release you of that power in my life.

I am good enough.

I am more then you ever could give me credit for.

I love you, Daddy. I remember the time you bought me yogurt even though I was in trouble. I think you could relate to me then and the overwhelming guilt I felt. Oh the guilt that you passed on to me... .

I am a beautiful soul because of you. I have a wicked temper because of you too. I strive to be the best version of all of that because of me. I free myself from the legacy that existed way before I ever came into existence.

I'm so sorry that I didn't know how to be around you when you were so, so sick. I'm sorry that my anger was so powerful that it didn't leave room for my compassion. Forgiveness. Understanding. I loved playing cribbage with you in the end, even though I could see in your face how hard it was to even sit up to play. Thank you, Dad. Thank you for trying too. I never could beat you at that game. Even in your dying days could I. Thank you for not ever letting me win. What a lesson that has been.

I forgive myself for being angry. I hope you can follow my lead. Forgive me. Forgive yourself. We are all doing the best we can with the hand that was dealt.

I know you didn't know quite how to be my Dad.

The same way I didn't quite know how to be your daughter.

I wish your passing could have waited until I was more prepared and ready to let you go. But here I am trying to battle even that all by myself.

I know that in my cold, cold heart that you wouldn't want me to suffer anymore.

So I'm letting go. My heartache and my grief. The guilt and the wishing it was different.

You were my dad and I was your daughter.

And we loved each other the best we could, even though it wasn't enough for either of us.

I accept that as I accept you. I wish that I could have done that before you died, but I couldn't. I held your hand in that hospital room, even after you were gone, and my dominating emotion was love. The purest kind - the one that doesn't need a payoff.

Goodbye, Daddy.

Goodbye.

~Your kemosabe



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