Daddy
Dear Dad,
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you were hurting so much and I didn't know it. I wish I had taken the time to really see you better, to not take you for granted. I would have done my best to show you that there was another way, that things would get better, that even though you didn't believe in antidepressants that I could have convinced you to try one, if I had known you were thinking about this way out. I can't believe you are gone. I can't believe it, but I knew, I knew it was true as soon as the words crossed into my head. I didn't disbelieve it for one second. It had never occurred to me, but somehow it made sense. In hindsight. But not really. You never seemed that far gone. You seemed happy the last time I saw you. Sometimes I don't think about it for a while and it starts to feel okay, like it didn't happen. I go in the closet and I pull out the pink envelope where I've got some of the shotgun pellets and the piece of your skull that I found in the garage. And yes, the piece of dessicated brain that I put in the Ziploc baggie, and the violence of what you did is so unreal and also so real there in front of me. Amazing and horrifying that anyone could have been so hurt and hopeless inside that they were capable of doing that to himself, not only capable but actually did it, let alone you, Dad. You did it so finally, and so abruptly, no one knew, no one had the chance to try to stop you, no one had the chance to argue, to have any say at all. It was just done and over with at the beginning. If you had known how you would hurt us, hurt me, if you could have seen the outcome, would you still have done it? Life goes on for the rest of us. It won't stop, and I'll be fine, sort of, and I know you knew that part, but not ever the same again.
Sometimes I look at the kids and I think of when they were babies, or looking back at their baby pictures and those babies are gone, completely different little people have taken their places. But I found out that there is still a little girl inside of me, and when I don't keep my guard up she is crying Daddy, Daddy noooo! Daddy, why?!
Summer is still up and I don't feel like I can really say everything I need to say. Not much time to myself to really put this down, like I've been needing to but can't bring myself to write it down on paper, where it might be read. I've tried not to stifle the kids to feel this way, but I still feel like I'm supposed to be strong and the time when it is okay to cry in front of people has passed. I know that's not true but something inside me that I can't talk myself out of says so. I keep listening to this song, and it says 'Be strong, for the rest of the world.' and I feel like that is what I'm trying to do but I don't know who the rest of the world is supposed to be.
I miss you, Dad. You know, it's just shitty. There isn't really any other facet to it. All that is left now are trinkets, sweatshirts, and pieces/ashes. It isn't the same at all. I know you don't know. It is like to your own self, like you never existed. You don't even have a self any more to know or not know anything. And looking back through the photos you kept, like the Valentines you made for your grandmother when you were a little boy, your pictures from when you were just starting out in your career, all the pictures of us when we were little kids, that whole life is just gone, poof, in the split second of a shotgun blast. Well, not quite poof. That implies a vanishing into a clean little puff of air. Your self vanished, but not the rest. That part, too. Really, Dad? You couldn't have done it in the woods somewhere? I know, it doesn't make sense to expect you to think logically when you were so far from logic that you willingly exploded your own head. I'm so tired of this being true. It doesn't feel like a dream, at all, but I keep wishing I could wake up from it and have it not be real. Love you, Dad.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you were hurting so much and I didn't know it. I wish I had taken the time to really see you better, to not take you for granted. I would have done my best to show you that there was another way, that things would get better, that even though you didn't believe in antidepressants that I could have convinced you to try one, if I had known you were thinking about this way out. I can't believe you are gone. I can't believe it, but I knew, I knew it was true as soon as the words crossed into my head. I didn't disbelieve it for one second. It had never occurred to me, but somehow it made sense. In hindsight. But not really. You never seemed that far gone. You seemed happy the last time I saw you. Sometimes I don't think about it for a while and it starts to feel okay, like it didn't happen. I go in the closet and I pull out the pink envelope where I've got some of the shotgun pellets and the piece of your skull that I found in the garage. And yes, the piece of dessicated brain that I put in the Ziploc baggie, and the violence of what you did is so unreal and also so real there in front of me. Amazing and horrifying that anyone could have been so hurt and hopeless inside that they were capable of doing that to himself, not only capable but actually did it, let alone you, Dad. You did it so finally, and so abruptly, no one knew, no one had the chance to try to stop you, no one had the chance to argue, to have any say at all. It was just done and over with at the beginning. If you had known how you would hurt us, hurt me, if you could have seen the outcome, would you still have done it? Life goes on for the rest of us. It won't stop, and I'll be fine, sort of, and I know you knew that part, but not ever the same again.
Sometimes I look at the kids and I think of when they were babies, or looking back at their baby pictures and those babies are gone, completely different little people have taken their places. But I found out that there is still a little girl inside of me, and when I don't keep my guard up she is crying Daddy, Daddy noooo! Daddy, why?!
Summer is still up and I don't feel like I can really say everything I need to say. Not much time to myself to really put this down, like I've been needing to but can't bring myself to write it down on paper, where it might be read. I've tried not to stifle the kids to feel this way, but I still feel like I'm supposed to be strong and the time when it is okay to cry in front of people has passed. I know that's not true but something inside me that I can't talk myself out of says so. I keep listening to this song, and it says 'Be strong, for the rest of the world.' and I feel like that is what I'm trying to do but I don't know who the rest of the world is supposed to be.
I miss you, Dad. You know, it's just shitty. There isn't really any other facet to it. All that is left now are trinkets, sweatshirts, and pieces/ashes. It isn't the same at all. I know you don't know. It is like to your own self, like you never existed. You don't even have a self any more to know or not know anything. And looking back through the photos you kept, like the Valentines you made for your grandmother when you were a little boy, your pictures from when you were just starting out in your career, all the pictures of us when we were little kids, that whole life is just gone, poof, in the split second of a shotgun blast. Well, not quite poof. That implies a vanishing into a clean little puff of air. Your self vanished, but not the rest. That part, too. Really, Dad? You couldn't have done it in the woods somewhere? I know, it doesn't make sense to expect you to think logically when you were so far from logic that you willingly exploded your own head. I'm so tired of this being true. It doesn't feel like a dream, at all, but I keep wishing I could wake up from it and have it not be real. Love you, Dad.