For My Father

I used to cry about the time we lost. The days and weeks and months and years that we'd never get back. Jealous of everyone else for what they had that I didn't. And I missed you. I missed you more than I'd ever be able to convey. It was more than a feeling. No such word exist to define the hole you left. Like an open wound that refused to heal, bathed in the salt from my tears day after day. I wore my anger on my sleeve. I hit and I scratched and I wrote with that anger. I smeared and dragged that sleeve as often as I could. I hurt others because somehow I believed it would hurt you. I hated you for the person you were. Even more for the person you'd never be. It burned me to know that I looked like you. I went years thinking about the parts of me I wanted to give back to you. There were parts of me that were so much like you and of you that I'd rip them from my own body if I could just to rid myself of the constant reminder. I thought of those parts a lot. They were things my angry self could have done without. Would have rather been without. I went from missing you to hating you, to needing you, to despising and resenting you. I looked at every person who reminded me of you and I disliked them for the pieces of you they represented. I wished you away. Even though your physical presence was nonexistent, there were always symbols and signs and times when forgetting you was impossible. Like a bad dream you'd appear seemingly out of the dark. And just when I thought I'd die from the lack of support and love and strength that fathers lend to their daughters I survived. And to describe what life after death is like would be impossible. You'd have to walk in my shoes and carry this debt you've burdened me with. With worn down soles and bloody feet I’d never healed. With a calloused heart I’d just learn to endure. I've been through so much. So many things you could have protected me from. I felt insignificant, replaceable, and ugly. Not wanted by my own father. And when love hurt me I thought of you. I thought how in that selfish way of yours, by walking out you warned me I'd never be good enough or special enough in anyone's else’s eyes. How cold men could and would be. How I served no purpose and held no value in the eyes of you or love. And like my desire to be wanted and cherished by you I clung to love. Even though it beat and battered me over and over and over again. I hoped that he would see my pathetic loyalty and take me back. But as you've shown me time and time again, nothing's fair in love and war. Without looking back you stole control you'd never earned. Walked right out with strings you'd pull with false hopes and untruths, and disingenuous apologies and promises. You spoke directly to the child in me. And even though a child no more I remain that way in the story that we share. There are spin offs and sequels from crossed paths and years gone by. And occasionally I think we can start over again, but there's a need to protect the child inside. Although she's grown into such a strong woman, you somehow hold the power to break her down. To tear me down. The truth is that you have failed me. You never deserved me, but I still wanted you. I felt sorry for myself for missing someone who’ll never even know me. Who'd never share in the failures or triumphs nor understand the meanings of the lessons I've learned. Or how those lessons have impacted me. How those lessons have built me. And I'm smart and funny and an amazingly powerful being. In the midst of any storm I am the calm that guides and shields and saves and rebuilds. I do for others what I can only imagine you should have done for me. And on a good day I know my worth. On a bad day I am your inconvenient truth. And despite the fact that I made it without you, I still miss you at times. I don't cry anymore, but I still think about the time we’ve lost. The missed moments and days and months and weeks and years you threw away that we'll never get back.