For thirty seven years, you have been the only father figure in my life. Good, bad and ugly, you were the man I looked to when I needed one. I have learned to forgive and love you, but I never really liked you. And now you are dying.
I am glad we spoke today. You welcomed my call like a surprise blindfold of hands and our smiles shared an uncomfortable moment of gratitude and love.
Although groggy and weak, your voice took me back to a place that is difficult to return, and I am surprised how strong a woman I’ve become.
Knowing you will not leave the hospital and hearing how scared you are is like seeing an accident on the highway and helpless to to anything about it. I feel for my mom, who has never left your side and wish I were home to hold her hand.
Since I was four, you have never said “I love you” to me. I understand. You were never showed how to love and I know this is the source of your negative energy.
Right before we hung up the phone, I told you “I know you will feel uncomfortable hearing this, but I do love you”. I could hear your smile as my tears tickled my cheeks, knowing that would be the last time I would hear your voice. There was a soft, quiet moment on the line. I held my breath as you wrapped my words around your heart.
Not knowing what you would say, I heard your smile and you replied, “Well that’s nice to hear”. I know what you meant, and I’ll take it.
Sleep well. I will take care of mom and we will rejoice in knowing you are in a place where you can finally open your heart and give love. We know you have it in you.