A Letter I May Never Send

Most people would tell me that writing you a letter would be futile; what good will it actually do? But I know more about you than most may seem and I know that you understand the art of writing. I remember when I was a little kid, you would write and write and write, and then mostly throw it away. I believe I inherited your ability to write and so, you more than anyone else, will understand why you’re receiving this letter instead of a phone call.

And besides, how can you get into an argument with a piece of paper? I don’t want what I say to be used in a fight; rather, I want it to evoke thought. At most, it will probably anger you and give you another reason to be mad. Unfortunately, I am all too used to that and therefore, having nothing to fear or dread. The only thing I will have to worry about is wondering, in the future, “what if?”

In order to prevent that, I’m writing this to you, sending it and will remain satisfied that I did my best. I will never have to think about what might have happened had I told you what was in my heart and on my mind.

For years I have struggled with decisions that you have made. And by years, I mean almost a decade. You have, from the outside looking in, watched me grow from a little girl to a young woman. And by watching me grow, I sincerely mean that you have observed me age. I wish, whole heartedly, that I could say that you have been a large part of my life, or that I owe so much of who I am to you, but would either of us be able to honestly say that? I write this not to hurt your feelings or to make you mad, but rather to give you insight as to why our relationship is not ideal.

I cannot remember, in the past eight years, a time where you were 100% invested in my life to the point that I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’d be there if I needed you; even if it were just a phone call in the middle of the day to say, “I love you.” I promise you that I have spent many nights and many days recounting the past few years and, alas, I cannot make myself remember something that did not occur. Now, I’m not trying to say that you weren’t there at all. I remember weekends; Sundays and phone conversations as well as holidays and birthdays. But dad, those are just segments of life that were organized by other people. By lawyers, calendars and deliveries. When was the last time that you called me and asked me to lunch? Wanted me to come over for dinner?

If you find yourself disagreeing, or find yourself saying that you have done the best you can, I would beg you to ask yourself a few questions. What’s my major? What is my minor? How long have Ethan and I been together? Or perhaps even simpler, what is my favorite color, my favorite book? You might laugh or think that it’s trivial, but can you answer most of these? I wouldn’t think so – but I hope with all that I have inside me that you could prove me wrong.

Perhaps one of the biggest turning points for me was this past December. After I came over on Christmas Eve, you didn’t try to talk to me for months. Not once did I get a phone call or a text message. Please, don’t try and say that “Well, you didn’t try to talk to me either.” You are my father. You are responsible for making sure that, as your daughter, I am aware that you are there for me, love me and care about us. You have not owned up to that responsibility.

There are times that I think back to when I was very young – you were my entire world. I sometimes watch how you interact with Makala and it literally brightens up my entire day because it takes me back to a time when I was she. You were flawless in my eyes. When I was her age, I thought that you were perfect.

I could say many things right now that would be hurtful but that does not mean that it would be right. I will only say that, in your heart, you are aware of the years of mistakes and wrong turns that you made and perhaps still continue to make. You are aware of the images I have in my head of the horrific fighting, sometimes rather violent, and the vulgar language, angry public scenes and the flares of tantrums that left me crying myself to sleep night after night. Did you know, that for a very long time, I was afraid of you? You might have realized but it never changed much if you did.

Some of my most vivid memories of you contain scenes that I pray my own children never see from their father. Your temper is so bad sometimes that I often wonder if you truly realize how mean you can really be.

What you probably don’t know, though, is that I have long since forgiven you.

Matthew 18:21-22
Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?" Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.

I hope that you find comfort in knowing that, for everything that has happened in the past, I do forgive you. For everything that you will do in the future, I will again forgive you.

But unfortunately, it has been hard for me to forget the past, especially when I am given constant reminders in the present of things that have never changed.

Father’s Day this year was one of the most defining moments for me… I came over, gave you a card and planned to just spend the afternoon with you. Unfortunately, you had no interest in spending the day with your daughters. You slept. You said you didn’t feel well, and I hate that for you, but instead of trying to make the best of it – you slept. And of course you found a way to call me out. After Candace and Makala both played a game on Candace’s phone, of course I was the one to be called down for being “annoying.” Why am I even surprised by that?

Instead of spending a day with my dad, I spent the day with my sisters. But that time to me is precious, too, so I can’t say that I minded. Makala seemed more than glad that I was there. It was a welcome change to what I had experienced with you.
I wish I could tell you how much it hurts me when I see my friends with their fathers. I was at a friend’s house not long ago and I was getting some advice on what to do about something wrong with my car and they asked me a question about my oil getting changed and I said, “I just checked it a week ago, it’s okay for now.” They laughed and made a joke about me checking my own oil. “You mean your dad doesn’t check up on you?”

I laughed it off. I said that I know how to do it myself. I DO know how to check it myself, and I do it all the time. But inside it makes me so sad… no, my dad doesn’t check up on me.

And then there was a few weeks ago when we ran into you at BoJangles… we tried to make small conversation but you were more interested in reading your paper than talking to me, your daughter. The daughter you hardly ever see. You always talk about how I never come over, but, the only times you have ever come to see me have been a few Saturdays with Makala. When was the last time you said to yourself, “You know what? I haven’t seen Olivia in awhile and I miss her. I think I’m going to call her and meet her – just to catch up.”

Some days I think about times I’ve tried to talk to you about Ethan. I’ve mentioned marrying him but you always seem to think that’s a bad idea; why would I want to marry him? Maybe you just still see me as the eight year old in a softball uniform, or if you go even farther back, the first grader who was going to marry Michael Gillespie. I must tell you that I have stumbled upon one of the most amazing young men that I believe I could have ever found. I say that I stumbled, but what I really mean is that God placed a great man in my life.

I’m in a relationship that is long-term now, going on four years. I’m with a man who was supposed to replace you as the leading man in my life, but he has instead become the leading man that I have always needed. Eventually, I’ll be engaged; soon after that, I’ll be married. I am eager to get to have the family that I always wanted growing up, but this time, I’ll be the wife and I know that Ethan won’t be going anywhere. Eventually I’ve have kids and I’ll watch them grow; I’ll be apart of their growth, God willing.

I have thought about my wedding since I was a little girl. I’m a traditionalist when it comes to weddings… I’ll have something borrowed, something new, and something old, something blue… I’ll be wearing white because I made a promise to God that I’d remain pure until my wedding day and faithfully, I have. A father usually walks his daughter down the aisle, as a symbol of giving her away. But would you really be giving me away, or simply walking? As a liberal, I have a problem with the idea of someone “giving” me away as it is… I am no one’s property. I do not need to be “handed” off to a man, as I am fully capable of handing myself over. And even then, I am not giving myself to anyone. I am sharing myself.

In my head, I walk myself down the aisle. It scares me sometimes because who wants to walk down the aisle alone? At times I’ve toyed with the idea of having someone on my grandmother’s side walk me down as sort of a tribute to the Wilkinson’s since so many of them have passed recently, but mostly, I just think about walking alone. It also scares me because I’m afraid you’ll get mad and refuse to come to the wedding all-together.

That would hurt me just as bad as you not making much effort over the past few years. I want you there to see me start my new life, a new life that hopefully you will be apart of more than what has happened now. I pray that I can give you a grandson and that he will have a grandfather to look up to, that he will see you as the flawless man of my own childhood. In my heart I don’t believe you would ever not come, but I do believe you would get angry instead of trying to understand.

I’m terrified you’d try to keep Makala from coming. She’s such a blessing… when I found out about Jennifer being pregnant, I remember excitement but no anticipation could have prepared me for what I was in store for; a beautiful little lady who lights up my world by calling me “Ollie”. I can’t wait to see her in a cute little dress, throwing flowers everywhere. She’s looking forward to it; I’ve already promised her the job is hers. If for some reason you wouldn’t let her come, I simply wouldn’t have a flower girl. There would be no replacement for my little sister. I’m afraid that you’ll forget that it’s my day, that you’ll forget the years of hurt and sadness and feel entitled to walking me when in reality, you have not wanted to walk me anywhere else these past few years.

I wonder if you’ll read this and get mad at me, if you’ll reach out to me and try to make things better before then, or before it’s too late. I wonder if you’ll continue to ignore me or if you’ll be sad that this is how things have wound up.

I’ve spent a lot of time in church this past year; a lot of time praying for you and for my relationship with you. I’ve asked God to take away all the anger and hurt that’s been left over and most of it is gone… but there are still times when weeks pass and you haven’t called that I remember you aren’t really worried about me anymore. That part is the saddest to me.

I hope you don’t take this letter and see it as an attack against you; I am the most calm and resolved that I have been in years. I’m not the angry teenager that resents you for the past anymore, I’m not the bitter child who’s dad wasn’t at the cheerleading competition and I did not turn into the adult who carried a grudge into her twenties. I’m simply writing what’s on my heart. I wonder what we could accomplish if you did the same, instead of throwing this away, staying the same.

More than anything else that this letter describes, you should know that if I did not love you, it wouldn’t have been written. Why would I waste my time typing a four-page letter to someone who I don’t love, care about even? Well the answer is simple: I wouldn’t have done it.

I cried on the way home after Father’s day. I even mentioned to Jennifer that I was really upset by what happened. And she suggested I talk to you. So I will take her advice and put it all out on the line, because you deserve my honesty and time as much as I deserve yours.

The optimist in me hopes that this could be a new beginning. The realist in me fears you’ll pick it apart, finding the parts you don’t like and blowing up in rage. The temperamental side of me is ready for an argument while the passive side hopes maybe it will be lost in the mail. The nervous side wants to know your thoughts. But perhaps most important, the daughter part of me, the part that should mean the most to you, just wants you to tell me that it’ll be okay.