It’s been five months since you left. I think about you every day. I have so many mixed emotions. Just when I think I’m through the grief; it comes back to me. it tackles me like a beast. There are times when things feel so hard, life feels hopeless and I wish I could call you. I wish I could hear your voice. I wish I knew you were with me. But I now have more doubt than I ever had about what lay on the other side.
If anyone could reach out to me, break the barriers and show me that something else exists…it would have been you. But I don’t feel your presence, Dad. You are gone. And that kills me. I don’t believe people when they say they “feel” their family members, spirits, ghosts, whatever. Why would something reach out to them and you don’t reach out to me? Where are you? why the hell did you leave? I want to believe that you watch over me. But now I doubt that. That kills me. I am angry.
When things are good, you are not here to share in the joy with me. When my son does something wonderful, you don’t see it. You don’t hug him. You don’t hold him. You don’t tell him you love him. That kills me. You left us and I’m mad at you for that.
I know I shouldn’t need you. I’m an adult. I should be fine. But I’m not. You broke your promise. You promised you would never leave me the way they did. You would never abandon me. But you did.
I had to walk into the house you died in. I had to walk down that hall. I had to walk into your room. I had to see your empty chair. I had to see your empty bed. I had to hold the clothes you died in. I had to carry you in a box on a fucking airplane. You are a box. A wooden box.That kills me. And I’m angry.
Christmas is in two days. I won’t call you. I won’t send you a card. I won’t get the one present I want. I will watch the ball drop on New Years and for the first time, you wont call. I will visit home in February…and you wont be there. I am angry.
I work so I don’t think about this. I write so I don’t think about this. I read so I don’t think about this. I wont drink because I know I will go off the deep end. And I want to know when this will end, Dad. When is the pain over? You will never answer me. And I am angry.
I know I didn’t get my shit together in time, Dad. I wanted you to come live with me but you couldn’t. Didn’t want to. I didn’t have the comfortable life you got used to. I’m sorry I failed. I’m sorry I didn’t progress quick enough. That kills me.
I would ask you to watch over me, to help me make it to the next level, to succeed. I know that’s pointless. I am many things. But now that you’re gone…I have no parents. I am a 27 year old orphan. I am no longer a daughter. I am angry.
I will keep the mask on, Dad. I will try to figure this out. I will struggle to be better. I will fight to give more to my son. I will promise to never leave him the way you left me. And I will fail. That kills me. And I am angry.