Dear Dad

It's been ten years and seven months since you died, and I don't think the pain has lessened any. I'm 20 now, Dad, and I still feel like the lost little girl who found out her Daddy was never coming back. I fell apart when you died, and it seems like I'll never be whole again. I am still so angry with you for letting drugs become more important than your daughter. I'm angry with Mom, too--the drugs and alcohol have destroyed that relationship--but you're the one who's gone. At least Mom stuck around. It kills me to think that drugs are the reason I'm completely alone and lost right now. I feel like I'm drowning, and I don't have anyone to fall back on. Do you know how hard it was for me when Mom was relapsing every weekend? Do you know how scary it was to find her passed out on the bathroom floor and feel responsible for her? Of course you don't--you weren't there. You chose Fentanyl over me. Thanks to you, I didn't get to have a childhood, and now I'm a broken adult.

Your birthday was a few weeks ago, exactly one week before mine. You would have been 50. That day, along with the anniversary of your death, are the two hardest days for me to get through every year. I miss you so much, but at the same time, I find myself gradually forgetting what your voice sounded like and what you looked like. All I have left are pictures, birthday cards, and your Air Force jacket. It's so hard knowing that I'm forgetting my dad. I leave campus on Parents' Weekend every year because it's too painful to see the other girls with their dads and knowing that I'll never have that again. The other day, I had a happy moment when I was proud of myself, and the first thought I had was to pull out my cell phone and call you. It seems so stupid now, but that split second when I felt the urge to call you was so real, and I cried because it hit me for the millionth time that I'll never talk to my dad again.

It seems ridiculous to me that I still cry over you after ten years. Shouldn't this be getting easier? I hope, wherever you are, that you've found the peace you were obviously lacking. It's hard growing up and realizing just how unhappy you were when you were alive, and it's hard coming to the realization that parents aren't perfect. I remember when I used to idolize you. I miss those days. I miss you. I love you.

Dear Dad

I'm sorry I could never call you that, although you were the closest I ever had. Even at 12, I knew he wouldn't be a dad ever again, but I still couldn't. I am so glad that I hugged you and told you I loved you that day that we ate breakfast together. Whenever I think of you, I picture you sitting there, talking animatedly and smiling. We were all so happy. You were excited for us.

Now you are gone. And so are we. Would you be proud? Or feel let down? I want to cry so much about all the things you are missing. I see things daily that make me think of you. I see so many beautiful things that you would love and will never get to experience. So many beautiful places you never got to see. I see the changes in the world that you were always hoping for: a growing awareness of the impact we have on the environment, a greater drive for acceptance of others. I can only cry when I think about how excited you would be about the specter of change.

Would you be proud of us? Would you feel we were pursuing a dream or abandoning our family? Based on our last conversation, I think you would say were are pursuing a dream. I think that you recognized that life is short and you need to take risks sometimes to get what you want. Ironic, since you only had a week left to live.
I still have your baseball mitt. The summer before the accident, Mom brought some stuff over for a yard sale. The mitt was in there, and I kept it out. It's in box, waiting for the right person. Waiting for someone who will use it and will listen when we tell stories about you. Unfortunately, that person will never be able to know how wonderful you really were, how you gave up your own dreams in order to be with my family. We became your dream, and I thank you.

I see you everywhere. In the mountains. In the lazy currents of a river in summer. In the waves crashing down and washing away the shore. In the way a dragonfly darts through the yard.

I don't believe in God. I don't believe we will ever meet again on some otherworldly cloud. But I do believe that you are always with me, in the earth and the ocean and the life that thrives around me. I just with you could see it all with me.

Dear Dad

I'm sorry I didn't take the time to wake up like normal and say good morning. Maybe if I had you'd still be here. I'm not angry at you, but I'm sad that you're missing out on everything dads are meant to be here for. I can drive now, I've finished my first year doing law at uni and I hope you'd be proud. God I miss you. XXX.