A Letter to Daddy on Father's Day

Dear Daddy,

   I know it's odd that I'm reaching out to you. I know you won't respond. I've not seen since I saw you at my brother's place. I remember you stating that you look like you were thirty-five, and I laughed and said, "More like seventy." I heard you never forgot what I said and didn't like it. You know what, I don't care if you did or didn't. 

  You know, oddly, I was thinking about you in April, and I even had someone close to me talk to me about you. He said that I needed to forgive you, and I was resistant in that. I finally did, though. It took some time. I wanted to reach out to you and ask you some questions They've been heavy on my mind, so here I go. Here are the items that have been on my mind. Let me start with a casual one. How are you doing today?  I've not seen you in a while and can't help but wonder do you miss me. 

  What was it about Mom that you knew you wanted to marry her? Was it her hazel eyes or lovely smile? Did you ever dream that you would have nine children together? I mean, was that your dream growing up? You work in construction or carpentry. What was it that drew you to that?

  I can remember Mom telling me you liked to sing, and there was one song you used to sing to her. Do you remember? Here's a couple of lines: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You never know just how much I love you, so please don't take my sunshine away." So, was she your sunshine? And, if so, when skies were so gray, why did you try to drink your sorrows away? You would drink and become a violent drunk that you would beat your wife who I'm assuming was your sunshine, or was she?

  You couldn't hold down a job. Were you lazy or not motivated? Did you lack skills? I mean, you had nine children that were depending on you to provide for them and a wife? Did you not feel the need to stick with something? 

  I also wonder about your parents. What was your Dad like? I never heard much about him. I knew your Mom, but I don't have many memories of her. Did you love her and treat her well? I did hear that you were mean to her as well. What was it about you that you mistreated the women in your life? I mean the woman that gave birth to you and the woman that gave birth to your nine children? Was life so hard that you wanted to make others feel the pain you were going through? I'm curious, what was that pain? Or were you unable to control your actions due to the alcohol you consumed?  I mean please tell me, enlighten me on why you did the things that you did.

 I think about you a lot around this time of the year. Some people tell me I should be over this and move on. I've regretted of ever having the idea of there ever being a good dad in my life. I don't think that I actually mourned YOU. I mourned what you could have been.  I do wonder about what in life caused you so much pain? What traumas in your life caused you to hurt others? I bet there's a novel inside you just waiting to tell its story. I wish I knew what it was. 

  Then, I wonder about the simple things. What was your favorite ice cream? What was your favorite film or musician? If you could have three wishes granted, what would those be? I mean if you were right here in front of me, I would interview you. These questions haunt me because I don't know, and I wish I did. Here's the crazy thing. I'll never know the answers to these questions because you're gone. Gone for a long time now. Almost thirty years gone. 

   Why didn't stay around long enough for me to find out? I was going to talk to you before you died. I heard you were in jail about a month before you passed. I just knew I was going to get my chance and ask you some of these questions. I just knew it, and then you were dead. I guess my feeling was wrong, huh? Wishful thinking on my part, I think. 

   I have to tell you that I know it was best for me that I wasn't around you that much, and that I didn't know you that well. But I wonder and ponder. I imagine I'll always wonder these things and ponder if I was really wanted by you, but then does it really matter if I was or wasn't? You're not here to prove it either way, and I don't think I would want anything to do with you anyway. That's the hard truth that I can say from the bottom of my heart that I'm glad you're not here and that I can say goodbye
Goodbye to the man that never really wanted to say hello.

Sincerely,

Maria

Your eighth child

P.S. I don't call you daddy I call you by your first name...Robert.