I remember the way he made me feel. The fear that welled up inside and grew in the pit of my stomach. Everything I did seemed to be wrong in some way. I saw how he loved my younger siblings compared to how he loved me. He was my dad, the only dad I’ve ever known. I resented him for not loving me the way a daughter should be loved by her dad. I guess it didn’t occur to me until after his death that even though he may not have loved me the way I wanted to be loved; it doesn’t mean he didn’t love me in his own way. I wish I could have cherished that while he was alive.
I look at this picture, such a small moment captured and I wonder what happened to that little girl standing next to the man who became my dad, a man I just wanted to be loved by.
The past is unkind and each of my family members remembers and experienced it differently. Each of us are hurt and affected in our own way.
It’s not fair he’s gone now. It’s not fair we’ll never get a chance to make things at least okay and I’ll live with that guilt and all I can do is pray God helps me fade away and move forward and on and grow and learn and be humbled.
I lost a chance to mend my relationship with my dad.
Dad, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I doubted that you loved me at all and sorry you left this earth without telling you that I loved you and you’re my dad and I’m sorry we won’t get a chance to be okay. I’m sorry for making you the bad guy. I’m sorry that my siblings lost a dad they loved very much.