a letter to my father

Hi Dad.

I have no idea what to say, here. I am writing this mostly because my therapist wants me to, but also because the feelings that have weighed so heavily upon me for the past five years have words. I just need to figure out what they are.

Can you believe that five years have passed? Can you believe that we are where we are now?

I can’t.

We went through a global pandemic and all kinds of civil unrest, and didn’t support one another through any of it.

The night before I left, I remember sitting behind you in your truck on the drive home from work. It was a soggy summer evening. I told you how hard it was to live in that house, and how much I needed to leave. I needed to make my own decisions, to live without fear, without chaos. I was twenty one, unable to drive, unable to shave my legs, unable to listen to music without permission. Unable to do anything. It was miserable.

But I told you, “if you’re not okay with this, if you’d cut me out over this, I won’t do it.” I was more willing to live in misery, than to live without you. And do you remember what you said?

“There is nothing that you can do to make me stop talking to you.”

And here we fucking are.

Why would you say that, and not follow through? What happened to your whole spiel about integrity?

To my memory, I spent about three years chasing after you. I’d find you at work, I’d text you and call you, I tried incessantly to have a relationship with you. When you became more and more unresponsive, and more cold, I finally stopped.

Why do you not care? What is it about me that makes it not worth caring?

Is it Mom? I know how she manipulated you, and the rest of us, into feeling guilty when we spent time with your parents, or her sister for example. Did she do that to you when I left?

Do you feel betrayed that I left, and became closer with your parents? I remember a phone call that took place between you and your mom, just after I moved out, during which you stated that they stole your daughter. You questioned whether or not they were insinuating that you were a bad parent.

Allow me to set the record straight: You were a phenomenal father, a solid role model — for my life, and for what I looked for in a partner — and you were my best friend, and the person I still love the most in the world to this day.

You can’t deny, though, that the environment that I was living in was abusive. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. And I think deep down, you know that and can empathize just a little bit with your parents’ concern for my well being. (If you are shaking your head here, let me remind you: she locked us in a bathroom all day, made us go to the bathroom in front of each other, and fed us through a crack in the door — because we argued. And that happened more than once. If that isn’t cruel and unusual punishment, I don’t know what is.)

Your parents did not ‘steal me’; rather, they gave me a way to be safe and healthy.

I don’t understand why we can’t just sit down and talk. I fully get that you are upset, and I am willing to take accountability for making you feel that way. I wish that you could do the same, or at least be willing to hear me if you can’t agree with me. Adults resolve conflict by having a respectful conversation, with the intention of understanding both points of view. Not running away with your hands over your ears going LALALALA I’M NOT TALKING TO YOU.

What happened to ‘do not become what you despise’?

You used this phrase whenever I would inevitably adopt some of my mother’s less than desirable traits. Bad attitude. Cutting people out. Being single minded to the point of self destruction, and self isolation.

I would say you became it, that thing that you despised.

And it irks the shit out of me that I took away the good pieces of advice that you gave me — and you don’t take them yourself.

You are not the person you used to be. None of us know who you are, anymore.

Are you happy? Are you content with your life? The answer is plain in your demeanor, and in your sarcastic answer when people ask how you are doing — “Oh, you know me. Living the dream.”

I am too sad for you, to be mad at you. It seems like you’re miserable, just like I was.

You told me when I moved out that things were quieter with me gone. While I’m sure that’s true, you didn’t seem to understand why. It’s not because the household is operating at a healthy capacity now. It’s not that I was the parasite making everyone sick. I left and suddenly the dysfunction could live without interruption or questioning. Is it really normal for your daughter to not shave her legs at twenty one? Is it really normal for your daughter to have no friends, and no opportunity for practical socialization? Is it really okay for a mother to call her daughter fat? Do you really think that my sister and I were mentally well in that house?

I know you know the answers to these questions, deep down. I think it is just too painful to admit it, or that these things even happened.

I am getting married in less than six months. It devastates me that you will not be walking me down the aisle. I always envisioned the Steve Martin moment in Father of the Bride, except I would have made sure I said goodbye to you before I left — even if it made me miss my flight. I really, really thought that would be us.

It devastates me that even though I am willing to put my grievances behind us, forgive and let go, you are simply choosing not to.

And the saddest part is, we are both victims here. Of the same thing. I just don’t see you or Mom as a villain. I see two people who may not have done things the best possible way, but they did do their best and that’s what counts. No matter how fucked up I ended up as a result.

Even if you never decide to work on this with me, to repair our relationship and move forward as father and daughter, I hope you do find peace. You have worked hard every day that I have known you, and you deserve happiness. I want you to wake up and love your life, the way that I do now. I don’t know if you ever think this way, but I thought about killing myself often when I lived at home. Now that I have built the life that I wanted to have, I wake up at peace with the world. I want that for you, too.

I will never stop trying, Dad. I will always be here when you are ready. I can’t help myself. Like, fuck you for being a jerk and abandoning your first born daughter but also I love you. A lot.