I have spent three days trying to write about my father. Why him? Well, because I am working on becoming a better me, loving myself more, and my deeply rooted issues with my father have everything to do with that. I cannot move forward until I deal with it, with him. I cannot learn to breathe and love and live again until I have given life to truth and by speaking it and death to pain by forgiving. Until I do so I will forever be a prisoner of my past hurt, watching people live and love through these prison bars. I don't believe fathers really understand the affect their presence, or lack thereof, has on their children. More importantly I don't believe they know the effect it has on their daughters. Some of a father's main goals as a parent are: being an example of how a man is supposed to carry himself, showing what a healthy relationship between a man and a woman looks like, and ultimately showing his daughter the love she deserves, should expect, and demand from a...
... and she reached out to him time and time again without success. Phone calls went unanswered. Text messages sent without reply. Facebook messages met with the message " This person isn't receiving messages from you right now." She couldn't take it anymore, the not knowing. She decided to try one last avenue of approach. She didn't know whether or not it would get the same attention as the others; none, but she felt it was worth the shot. She wouldn't know if she didn't try, so she tried. She titled the email, " Not Going Anywhere Until You Tell Me To..." I know you are dealing with a lot right now with the passing of your grandfather. I again am deeply sorry for your loss and my condolences go out to you and your family. I just need you to know that I am here if you need to talk to someone. I know what it's like to lose someone you care about. I also know what it's like to grieve. I also need you to know that I care about you ...
I don't need to hold on to the hope that he’ll change. The hope that one day he’ll wake up and realize all the hurt he’s caused me even in his absence, by his absence. I don’t need to hold on to the hope that he’ll one day wake up and love me, really truly unconditionally love me. I don’t need to sit here waiting at the bottom of this step in the cold pouring rain, drops blending in with my tears, hoping that he’ll open the door and let me in; that’ll he’ll embrace me with a warmth that swallows me whole and softens the ice walls around my heart until the melt away into beautiful flowing rivers giving life to all the dry earth around it. He was the first man I learned to love unconditional. I loved him the way Christians loved God. I couldn’t see him, I rarely heard him, but I knew, I just knew he was there and I loved him with an unyielding love. Loved him without question simply because he was… That’s it. Love him because he was, and I was of him.
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