Write in the Voice of Your Loved One
Dear Toni,
You need to know that this was not your fault. I was an adult with a problem, and you were a child when I died. How could you be responsible for this? You couldn’t.
I know your mother felt like you blamed her for my death, and it wasn’t her fault either. There was not a single person who could have pulled me from this. I am an alcoholic and when my brother, Bill, died, I felt like a piece of me died with him.
Without him, I saw nothing left in the world for me. Not that you and your mother weren’t reason enough to stay. I was sick. And when he went, it was just over. I can’t explain it, except to say that I was sick and it wasn’t your fault.
I was always so proud of you. You always were so creative and smart and funny, and from the years that have passed since I died, I can see that you have done so much with what you were given as gifts. I know you sometimes don’t feel like you have done enough. Sweetie, this world is hard, and there’s only so much you can do when you are only one person. You have used your creativity to stay alive, and that was a lot more than I ever did.
And you also did something I saw that your mother never did; you got help when you needed it for your mental health problems. You are not nearly as sick as she was, and I know you are still afraid after all these years that you are going to end up with the same kind of mental health issues your mother had. But you don’t. And I don’t think you will.
I don’t know how you ended up with me and your mom as your parents and somehow came out of all the things that happened to you as a kid, some of which your mother caused, said and did. I am happy you were my daughter, but at the same time I wish you had been given to someone else. You would have been better off.
I also saw what you had to go through with your mother when you were in college and I am sorry you had to go through that. I saw you struggle to make the decision you made, and you made the right decision. She should never have asked you to quit school to take care of her, especially when she had another daughter who was doing nothing with her life, not even school or a job, who could have helped care for her. But you considered it. And that is how I know that you are a good person; someone else who was terrible would have just said no outright. You thought about it. You agonized over it. You wrote a beautiful ten minute play and a beautiful full length play about it.
I also saw you struggle with her death. I saw that you were scared that she would be eventually waiting for you when you died to scream at you. I see that you don’t even know how you believe as far as an afterlife goes, and you still fervently believe this is possible.
You are a good mother. You struggle with it, but those kids are so lucky to have you as their mother. They both remind me so much of you as a kid; Tabitha is so sweet and tenderhearted and cries at the death of a bug on a windshield; Orson is wild and loud and fun like you were as a kid. They are good kids, smart, beautiful and amazing.
I love you. I loved being your dad, even when I wished you didn’t have to deal with our shit. I loved going to the library with you, even if it was just an excuse to drink in secret. I loved your excitement for reading and writing and creativity, and I love that something good came from my life.
Love,
Daddy
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