What it did to me

You’re death killed me. It didn’t just kill a part of me, it blackened my heart. I don’t think you could have ever understood exactly how much pain it could have caused me.

To you, it was life.

To you, it was just the way things had to be.

I hate you. I love you. I want to kill you, but you’re already dead.

You were, in your own words, just a salmon living out your life cycle. You lived, you birthed, you were up stream to die. Shedding flesh and swimming in a puddle of your own mortality.

How dare you minimize a life so worthwhile, so giving, into the lifecycle of a fish. It made no sense to me at the time, but I accepted it with a laugh. I never thought that you would give up so easily. I thought you wanted to be there to experience the important moments in my life. To be there to help me through the hard times like you always had in the past. I thought you cared to be there for me.

I wasn’t wrong. Of course you cared, you’re my dad. Of course you wanted to be there.

But some part of you gave up when you realized that I was a grown woman with a life of her own. When you gave up, it showed. It mattered. I will never know if you knew how much it meant to give up. I will never know, because now you’re gone.

You will never have an idea of how much it would mean to me to meet your potential grandchildren. You will never know how much it would mean to be there at the end of the other line. For me to hear your sweet, calming voice at times when I needed it the most.

You will never know my pain.

I love you dad, but I can’t help but be mad. I can’t help but be mad at you.

This world tells me its not okay to feel this way, but I know in my heart that you would understand. I know that you would apologize, bend over backwards, do anything you could to beg my forgiveness.

All I can expect is a dream, a dream in which you tell me how sorry you are.