Dear Father...

Dear Father,

I am writing this letter to you knowing you may never read it or even give much regard to the content.

I am writing this letter to you, because it’s been over twenty years since we last spoke, and longer still since I’ve seen you. 

I am writing this letter to you, knowing if you read it, I risk losing you again with my brutal words and honesty…

Do I think about you? Sometimes I do, but mostly with bitterness and regret. 

Did I miss having a father growing up? Rarely, but on the odd occasion, more than you’ll ever know. If anything, it just made me more determined to find a man, who would never give up on our child, regardless of which direction our future went. A man, who would love his child with all his might, and the thought of losing them, would be akin to losing a limb. That kinda love. 

I’ve thought about writing you a letter many times, but never put words to paper until now. I am finally doing it because, you haven’t given me an opportunity to say it to you face to face. You’ve been hiding in the shadows like a coward. 

When do I think of you? 

As a child, I have a clear memory of Primary School and being asked to complete a project “what does my father do for his job?”. I didn’t want to have to explain why I didn’t have a father, I didn’t want to be left out… so I sat there with my colouring pencil and thought hard about what I would have liked my father to be. After pondering for a while, I decided you would be a policeman, because in my naïve mind, a policeman was the most upstanding person in society and would protect me like a father should. 

I mainly thought about you on Father’s Day for obvious reasons but I always try to distract myself on the day. I wonder if you think of me too, or whether you’re too distracted by all the love you receive from the other children you have kept and held onto. The ones you hugged, told off, celebrated birthdays with, wiped tears away for, and told bedtime stories to. 

I also thought of you during 9/11. I knew you were in the States but didn’t know exactly where or what you did for a living. Perhaps you were in New York, perhaps you were working as a trader, perhaps you were just passing by, perhaps you were dead… Sadly, that thought provided me more comfort than the thought of you being alive. It would at least explained why you weren’t reaching out or neglecting the child you had. Better the father who left his child behind unintentionally through death, than the father who was alive, well and intentionally living apart from his child. 

On one occasion, I was in church and it happened to be Father’s Day. I remember the pastor calling out to all the people in church, who didn’t have a father (physically, mentally, emotionally) to seek prayer. Instead of thanking fathers for their role, the pastor understood fathers aren’t always perfect and often leave behind hurt souls. Some people chose to go up on stage to be prayed for, and others (like myself) chose to stand where I was, hand on heart and pray. I could not believe how many people got up on stage that day, and without any pre-warning, I sobbed my eyes out that day…ugly, heaving, heavy sobs. That was the first time, I allowed myself to grieve for a father that didn’t want me. 

Other times when I am reminded of you is whenever I hear Kelly Clarkson’s song “Piece by Piece”. If you don’t know it already, it is a song about Kelly’s absentee father, letting her down as a child and how she has found a man who will never let their own daughter down. You’ll never quite understand how much I can relate to that song, the lyrics and sentiment. It is as if it was a personal song written for me. 

The last significant time I thought of you was the day I got married. Rather than the mother, the father is supposed to play a significant role on his daughter’s special day. 

You were supposed to be there for my husband to ask my hand in marriage…

On the day of the wedding, you were supposed to be there, to tell me how beautiful I looked… 

You were supposed to walk me down the aisle, arm in arm, being the proud father…

You were supposed to make a toast to wish me all the blessings in life, and tell my husband to treat me well…

You were supposed to dance with me, for our father and daughter dance but you weren’t there. 

I am married now to a loving and caring man; he is kinder than any man I have ever known, and it is his kindness that I fell for. It took me a long time to get to this place, and trust me when I say, I experienced broken relationships before I got to this place of love and security. Meeting my husband restored a lot of my faith in men, knowing good ones do exist.

Before I met him and because of you (some may say “daddy issues”), I allowed myself to be mistreated in previous relationships. I didn’t understand love; sometimes that made me overly defiant or other times the opposite, and completely undervalue myself. Because of you, I was many times put in vulnerable positions and have been hurt by men. For those things, I will never be able to forgive you. But I guess I can’t forgive someone who hasn’t sought forgiveness or repentance. 

I have so many questions I want to ask you, questions that have played on my mind for years. Always unanswered, always troubling and perhaps may even go with me to the grave. Why did you leave? Where did you go all those years? Who is the other ‘she’? Who are my siblings? How many etc? Why have you stayed away for so long? Why did you hurt mum? Why haven’t you apologised to her yet?

Why have you suddenly come back into my life? Why do you think it’s acceptable to play mind games and with people’s feelings? How can you show a glimpse of yourself and once again, disappear into the abyss? Why is it always up to you? Your games, your rules. Why have you gone back to the same place, where I can’t reach out to you, and where there are only traces of you? 

One day, I hope I will be able to speak to you face to face, to get the answers I need and deserve. One day, I hope you will be crying in front of me, and seeking forgiveness. One day, I hope you will be willing to hear me out and give me as much time as I need to forgive you; that my hurt overrides your selfishness. One day, I hope you will be able to listen without a need to get defensive or only provide your explanations. Whatever they are, they are not enough to excuse your actions. Actions certainly speak louder than words. One day, maybe you’ll come back into my life and remain consistent. I don’t expect love, and all that luxurious jazz; consistency would be enough. Maybe one day, you’ll stay. Maybe, maybe not. 

Love, 

The empty shell of a daughter you left behind.