Happy Father’s Day!
I’ve been thinking of how to begin this letter to you: should I mention the sad fact that we never actually got to celebrate father’s day together? Or should I just leave that unmentioned, because it just hurts too much to realize that I’ll never be able to celebrate this day, because you’re no longer here? Maybe, I could just mention it and leave as it is, since I can’t really do anything about it. Or maybe, the more I allow myself to hear/ read it, the more I can learn to accept and/or numb myself from the pain.
The last time I wrote you something was on my 27th birthday. I went by your resting place — at least the one that we living humans have as a symbol of it — and I think I told you just how difficult it is to live up to your wise words, the one you had written on my 7th birthday card: “Always have a happy heart.”
How did you know, daddy, that this would be my struggle? How did you know it would be so damn difficult for me to be happy? What or who gave you this quote, and what or who motivated you to pass it on to me?
Most importantly, if you knew how difficult it would be: why didn’t you stay?
I know all these questions will remain as they are. I know you’ll never get to answer them. A part of me has accepted that. Or maybe I’m just numbed out from the pain of disappointment, that the man who was supposed to protect and rescue me isn’t here anymore, and all I have is this rather vague reminder that I have used as my guiding light for so long, yet I still don’t understand it.
Why is it so hard to be happy, daddy? Why is it so hard to see the good in the bad, the light in the dark, the beauty in the ugly? Why can’t I stop?
I’m so tired, daddy. I’m so tired of fighting to keep my heart happy. Of wishing for things and people I cannot have. Of smiling and laughing when deep inside, I am shouting and crying.
I’m tired of pretending to be happy because you told me to keep my heart happy. It doesn’t seem to work that way.
I think it needs to start inside for it to be true outside.
So I’m going to try again, but this time, I’ll work on the inside first. Maybe this time, I hope, I’ll be able to do it.
Help me, daddy. Stay with me. Guide and protect me. Give me more patience, more understanding, more love. I need you, daddy. I can’t do this alone.
I don’t want to do this alone.
I’ll probably write you again, soon. If you can, please do try to visit me in my dreams.
I love you, daddy. Thank you for… everything.