The letter I never received....

The letter I never received......

While i was sorting through some of my father's old things, i found a letter that he wrote to me. It was very sloppy, but I forgave him of his terrible handwriting. It really bothers me that he wrote this but never had the nerve to give it to me.

Dear Angel,

I wanted to say I’m sorry.

Sorry for yelling.

Sorry for drinking.

Sorry for cursing.

Sorry for giving up.

Sorry for letting my soul die.

I want to explain why I walk away, and why I have to be right even when you're completely right about what's good for me.

It was never anything you did.  It wasn’t what you said.  It was everything you did and said.  I lump it all together, because I grow weary of being wrong.  Not wronged by you, just wronged by circumstance.  I need someone else to blame for every miserable thing I have endured.  You have no choice but to take that brunt.  I gave you no other.

I scream, “I’m the fucking adult, that’s why!”  But the statement contradicts itself, right?

I want to give you advice based on experience.  Mine.  But my advice sounds hollow to you.  How could it not through my drunken slur…..?

I give you everything you ask for, because it’s all I have to give you.  I have done you no favors by doing that.  And if I acquiesce to your every whim, how can you possibly give my bottle the evil eye?  It’s my twisted, manipulative trade off.

I want you to forget the times I have crawled that carpet soaking it with tears, and vomit.   Erase the memory of the wild look in my eyes as I scream, and spew vile profanity.  Try not to remember the times I have cursed God for the rotten things in my life, forgetting your presence beside me, and how that must have felt.

I want you to look at me, at what I’ve become, and take that other road.  The one that leads to enlightenment, and grace.   I want you to be rubber when I shout my injustice into your face.

I want you to know that I want to be better, that I want to thrive again.  And I want you to believe it, even when I don’t.

I want you to adhere to rules, even as I break them hourly.

I want you to have morals, even as I burn my own bridges.

I want you to be stronger, even as I fall apart in the shadows.
I want you to be happy, even as I darken furthermore.

And please, dear child, reject that God awful drug problem that has been passed down for generations now.

As hollow, or drunken, or empty as it sounds, I want to tell you how fucking amazing you are, and that you are the brightest spot in my day, my life.   I want to tell you I didn’t mean those things.  I want you to know your worth, and your brilliance, and I want you to dance in your kaleidoscope of colors.  I want to tell you how much I drink in your essence, your soul.  I want to tell you you mean so much more to me than a footnote at the bottom of a page.  I want to tell you I love you.

I wanted to say I’m sorry.

Sorry for yelling.

Sorry for drinking.

Sorry for cursing.

Sorry for leaving.

Sorry for giving up.

Sorry for leaving you alone to deal with this.

But most of all Angeleyea, I'm sorry for never giving you this letter.

Maybe someday.......I can.

Love Always,

Your Father