Dad,

I’ve started this letter a million times…in my head, on paper, on the computer. But the words never seem to come out right. And I oftentimes wonder why I should be the one reaching out to you. You’re the one who left us. Who didn’t want us.

Didn’t want us. Maybe that’s not how it seems to you but to me that’s how it feels. How else are two children supposed to feel when one day their father is there and the next day he’s gone? I was so young that I don’t even have many real memories of our brief time together. And pictures of you are scarce—after all, you are the reason for my mother’s broken heart.

And my broken heart. Don’t get me wrong—Mom raised us well and sacrificed everything for her kids. She loves us with ever fiber of her being. But there continues to be a void in my heart. A void that can only be filled by you.

I always maintain the strong face in public but when I’m by myself I let my true feelings about you show. I’m sad you’re not around to see the person I’ve become. I’m sad you will never have the opportunity to walk me down the aisle. I’m sad that I grew up without a father—I never had a chance to be a “daddy’s girl.”

There are worse things in life then having an absentee father. But the one thing that continues to devastate me is you don’t want anything to do with us. You walked out that door and we had to beg to see you. Never did you volunteer to take us anywhere to spend any quality time with us. And that cuts the deepest.

Yet you found a way to take on a new family. If you didn’t love Mom anymore then for her sake, I’m glad you left her. But you don’t know how it hurt to see you at grandmom’s funeral with your new wife and her daughter. She’s about my age. Why are you willing to take care of her, your stepdaughter, but not your own children? Were we not good enough? Or were you scared to approach us? Were you just afraid of how we would react?

The anger and hurt I carry around in my heart has taken its toll on me. Relationships fail because I’m afraid to get too invested. Afraid he’s just going to walk out the door. But I’ve found someone I want to make things work with. And I refuse to let the anger and hurt you’ve caused to stand in my way. So I’m done carrying around this anger. The sadness is much harder to erase but I can forgive. That does not mean that the scars on my heart will be erased.

Sometimes I envision spending countless hours at a little diner just talking to you. Learning about the last twenty years of your life and filling you in on mine. How I fell in love and was ready to marry someone before pushing him away. How I live and breath horses still after all these years. How much I love music. And how, no matter what, I still love you. But then the traffic light turns green or I wake up or someone interrupts my thoughts and my daydreams go out the window.

I pray to God that one day you’ll find the strength to reach out to me. As angry as I am if we were face to face right now, I would just run into your arms and call you “Dad.” I haven’t said that word to you in twenty years. Maybe one day I’ll find the strength to reach out to you. I have to completely let go of the anger, though, before I try to conquer my fear of being rejected by you—again.

Love,

Your Daughter, age 24