I hope you're in a world of unending magic.
I miss you every moment of every day.
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Feb 26
I hope you're in a world of unending magic.
I miss you every moment of every day.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
An Unhappy Life
"I want you to know that in life you need to follow the path that will give you the most satisfaction and fulfillment. [...] I would rather see you have a short exciting life that is your own than spending 50 years at doing something unsatisfying. There is no value in an unhappy life."
From an e-mail from my Daddy
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Proud Parents
A friend of mine graduated this week, and I joined her after the ceremony to take pictures and congratulate her. She and her very proud parents were all smiles - it was a really beautiful sight. I was so proud of her myself; I really got caught up in the moment, and reveled in all of the joy.
Being there, I started to wonder why I hadn't invited all of my friends to join me on the grass for pictures as per my university's tradition. It seemed so joyous. Standing there with her, I somehow didn't understand how my own convocation could be tainted with any emotion other than joy or pride.
Then when things wrapped up, I walked home. Alone. To an empty apartment. And thank God I had sunglasses, because I cried the whole damn way.
As soon as I walked away, the images of my grad had shifted from friends like dear M***** congratulating me on the grass to images of my parents hugging me and smiling at me like hers were on that day. Images that are no more than fiction for me. Empty hopes.
It's not fair. Mommy, Daddy: you wanted me to graduate, just like you? You both had your parents with you. I don't.
And I don't know how I can be proud of myself without you there to show me.
Being there, I started to wonder why I hadn't invited all of my friends to join me on the grass for pictures as per my university's tradition. It seemed so joyous. Standing there with her, I somehow didn't understand how my own convocation could be tainted with any emotion other than joy or pride.
Then when things wrapped up, I walked home. Alone. To an empty apartment. And thank God I had sunglasses, because I cried the whole damn way.
As soon as I walked away, the images of my grad had shifted from friends like dear M***** congratulating me on the grass to images of my parents hugging me and smiling at me like hers were on that day. Images that are no more than fiction for me. Empty hopes.
It's not fair. Mommy, Daddy: you wanted me to graduate, just like you? You both had your parents with you. I don't.
And I don't know how I can be proud of myself without you there to show me.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Your Joy
Daddy:
From all my memories of you; from all of the old pictures of you with me and my brothers; from all of the letters and e-mails and notes you've ever written...it's obvious that my brothers and I brought you all of the joy in your life - enough joy to live forever.
You would do anything for us, and you always did. You were born to be a dad.
So tell me, Daddy: when did we stop being enough for you? When did we stop bringing enough joy to your life that it was no longer worth living?
After 24 years of being our hero, why did you decide to stop being a dad?
You tell me that.
From all my memories of you; from all of the old pictures of you with me and my brothers; from all of the letters and e-mails and notes you've ever written...it's obvious that my brothers and I brought you all of the joy in your life - enough joy to live forever.
You would do anything for us, and you always did. You were born to be a dad.
So tell me, Daddy: when did we stop being enough for you? When did we stop bringing enough joy to your life that it was no longer worth living?
After 24 years of being our hero, why did you decide to stop being a dad?
You tell me that.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Happy Valentine's Day
Valentine's Day was always special for me, because I had a man in my life who loved me dearly and always showed it. Every Feb. 14th I would wake up to find a poem on the pillow next to me, or chocolates placed on my desk, and always a red rose at my place at the breakfast table. One wonderful year there was a heart-shaped diamond necklace waiting for me. We had received a brochure in the mail and a few days earlier my mom and I had been going through it and talking about how ugly all of the jewelry was - except for that sole necklace which I had mentioned was really pretty. They're the only diamonds I have ever owned.
This e-mail is from our first Valentine's apart (when I had gone away to residence), and our last Valentine's before he took his life.
February 14, 2008
Happy Valentines Day Tee!
I could never fully express how much I love you and how wonderful it is to see you growing into the beautiful young woman that you have become.
When I first saw and held you that wonderful day now almost 19 years ago, a big chunk of my heart became yours for always.
Mommy said it from that first moment that you were very special and would be a force to reckon with. Seeing you with your friends, on your travels, the pictures from the recent dance it is obvious that you are the light in the room and your very presence is a gift to those around you.
On this day of love's expression and for all days, no father could love you more.
Daddy
This e-mail is from our first Valentine's apart (when I had gone away to residence), and our last Valentine's before he took his life.
February 14, 2008
Happy Valentines Day Tee!
I could never fully express how much I love you and how wonderful it is to see you growing into the beautiful young woman that you have become.
When I first saw and held you that wonderful day now almost 19 years ago, a big chunk of my heart became yours for always.
Mommy said it from that first moment that you were very special and would be a force to reckon with. Seeing you with your friends, on your travels, the pictures from the recent dance it is obvious that you are the light in the room and your very presence is a gift to those around you.
On this day of love's expression and for all days, no father could love you more.
Daddy
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Thoughts on my Dad
My thoughts have been intensely ambivalent since my family died, and I feel guilt for every thought I have concerning my family. I eventually couldn't stand it anymore, and sat down and typed what I felt as if no one would ever read it. This piece of writing is easily one of the most honest things that has come out of me.
November 28th, 2009
I don’t know what to think about him. So I have to write, because I’m his daughter. I’m his daughter, and this is what he gave me. This is in my blood, right from him.
I think he’s a fucking coward, for taking such a cheap and horrible way out. But I think he’s so brave for being the only one of us to have the guts to take a stand.
I know he loved us with everything in him, so that it consumed him, so that he’d commit the most horrible act, because saving one of us meant more to him than his own life. But I doubt that he could have any love for us at all for taking away every single thing that we ever loved.
I think he’s a murderer. He is a murderer.
But I think he’s some sort of saviour. Some sort of euthanizer.
I think he’s the truest of men, for having it in him to make decisions for his family, and take care of them in ways they never could themselves. But I think he might as well be a eunuch for the cowardice it takes to not be able to face something like bankruptcy.
I’m thankful to him for ending such a horrible situation. But I’m astonished he would rather give up on our family than fight through more hardships.
I know he loved Mommy. He dedicated everything in his life to her, until the very end. But I can’t help but think he got some sort of satisfaction out of killing her. And out of killing D*****. Even though I know it hurt him so much that he felt it in every square inch of his body, I know that some part of him was satiated by killing them.
He’s the man who raised me, who loved me, who protected me. He’s my Daddy, and I’m his little girl. We have the same birthday. We have the same soul. We understand each other like no one else.
And me, it was me that he hurt more than anyone, and he knew it, he knows it. That’s why the suicide note was addressed to me first, to me before the elder, to the T before the S. It was always chronological, always, it was “D*****, S**** and Tee,” and that was fine, because I was the baby, I was meant to be at the end. He addressed it to me first because he knew that all of the pain was targeted at me. He knew that. He knew that this would affect S****’s life, his life, it but was me that this would kill. Not my life, but me. And somehow addressing it to me is supposed to make me feel like he loved me?
How could he possibly love me? He knew what this would do to me. I was supposed to be that much more special to him. With all we shared… we were the artists. We were the Pisces. We were the singers. We shared stories and songs and sports and introversion and somehow, on some level, we both saw life in the same way. I was the one he sent to Greece, and France, and Egypt and I was the one he sent to debating provincials and Envirothon internationals and I was the one he drove out of town for plays and concerts. I was his little girl. It wasn’t that he loved me more, but he knew we had a special bond, and he treated that with respect. I thought he was the sort of man and the sort of Daddy who would sacrifice himself for me, completely. I think, somehow, he thinks he did. And sometimes I see it that way. But sometimes – most of the time – I see it as him being too afraid to sacrifice himself for us anymore.
This whole situation…I feel so protected, and so betrayed, and so emancipated, and so abandoned.
There’s that word that that Distress Centre exec woman suggested to me: ABANDONED.
I had never even considered it, but it fit so, so perfectly. I feel so abandoned – and not just by Daddy. By all of them. I blame all of them. Somehow, they were all a part of it. By suggesting the mass suicide. By not being strong enough to fight past their problems, like I feel I had done. For falling victim to it all. For fighting. For always fighting with each other. They were the ones. Mommy and D*****, they started all of it. It was all them. We were the victims. Daddy, S**** and I. We were the victims. And Daddy stood up for us. He stood up for us in the end.
I love myself for getting through all of this. But I hate myself so deeply for all of these horrible thoughts that are always in me. They’re all horrible – because some defend him, some defend the act, and all the rest are affronts to my love for him. There’s not a single thought in my head that can justify it all. I either love him and love the act, or hate him and hate the act.
It’s always been this: choosing between my Mommy and my Daddy. Always. Auntie J***** understands that. And it’s still not over. I can’t love my Daddy because it means I think it’s okay that he murdered my mother – he stabbed her to death. I can’t love my Mommy because it means agreeing that I should take her side against him. I yell at them. I look up to the heavens and I yell at them. Often. I say “this is your fault” and I say “you’d better damn well be getting along now” and I blame them for it all. I don’t blame my Daddy, I blame all of them. And I yell because it makes me feel better. Because it makes me feel like all of the mistakes I’m making now are justified. It makes me feel like I can do whatever shit I want to and it’s all their fault. It’s their fault for screwing me up and it’s their fault for leaving me to deal with it on my own. I yell at them up in heaven or maybe it’s hell or whatever because I have so much anger in me and I don’t know what to do with it. I do things I know they wouldn’t approve of and for a second I feel guilty because I know they’re watching, but then I turn my head upwards and I say (the same words every time) “You know what? FUCK you! You LEFT me!” And then there are the times that the only way I can get through the day is by imagining that my Mommy is right next to me stroking my hair or my hand or that my Daddy is smiling at me with that silly, knowing grin that he and I always shared with moments like “Hello, DaDA” because otherwise I would just crumble.
November 28th, 2009
I don’t know what to think about him. So I have to write, because I’m his daughter. I’m his daughter, and this is what he gave me. This is in my blood, right from him.
I think he’s a fucking coward, for taking such a cheap and horrible way out. But I think he’s so brave for being the only one of us to have the guts to take a stand.
I know he loved us with everything in him, so that it consumed him, so that he’d commit the most horrible act, because saving one of us meant more to him than his own life. But I doubt that he could have any love for us at all for taking away every single thing that we ever loved.
I think he’s a murderer. He is a murderer.
But I think he’s some sort of saviour. Some sort of euthanizer.
I think he’s the truest of men, for having it in him to make decisions for his family, and take care of them in ways they never could themselves. But I think he might as well be a eunuch for the cowardice it takes to not be able to face something like bankruptcy.
I’m thankful to him for ending such a horrible situation. But I’m astonished he would rather give up on our family than fight through more hardships.
I know he loved Mommy. He dedicated everything in his life to her, until the very end. But I can’t help but think he got some sort of satisfaction out of killing her. And out of killing D*****. Even though I know it hurt him so much that he felt it in every square inch of his body, I know that some part of him was satiated by killing them.
He’s the man who raised me, who loved me, who protected me. He’s my Daddy, and I’m his little girl. We have the same birthday. We have the same soul. We understand each other like no one else.
And me, it was me that he hurt more than anyone, and he knew it, he knows it. That’s why the suicide note was addressed to me first, to me before the elder, to the T before the S. It was always chronological, always, it was “D*****, S**** and Tee,” and that was fine, because I was the baby, I was meant to be at the end. He addressed it to me first because he knew that all of the pain was targeted at me. He knew that. He knew that this would affect S****’s life, his life, it but was me that this would kill. Not my life, but me. And somehow addressing it to me is supposed to make me feel like he loved me?
How could he possibly love me? He knew what this would do to me. I was supposed to be that much more special to him. With all we shared… we were the artists. We were the Pisces. We were the singers. We shared stories and songs and sports and introversion and somehow, on some level, we both saw life in the same way. I was the one he sent to Greece, and France, and Egypt and I was the one he sent to debating provincials and Envirothon internationals and I was the one he drove out of town for plays and concerts. I was his little girl. It wasn’t that he loved me more, but he knew we had a special bond, and he treated that with respect. I thought he was the sort of man and the sort of Daddy who would sacrifice himself for me, completely. I think, somehow, he thinks he did. And sometimes I see it that way. But sometimes – most of the time – I see it as him being too afraid to sacrifice himself for us anymore.
This whole situation…I feel so protected, and so betrayed, and so emancipated, and so abandoned.
There’s that word that that Distress Centre exec woman suggested to me: ABANDONED.
I had never even considered it, but it fit so, so perfectly. I feel so abandoned – and not just by Daddy. By all of them. I blame all of them. Somehow, they were all a part of it. By suggesting the mass suicide. By not being strong enough to fight past their problems, like I feel I had done. For falling victim to it all. For fighting. For always fighting with each other. They were the ones. Mommy and D*****, they started all of it. It was all them. We were the victims. Daddy, S**** and I. We were the victims. And Daddy stood up for us. He stood up for us in the end.
I love myself for getting through all of this. But I hate myself so deeply for all of these horrible thoughts that are always in me. They’re all horrible – because some defend him, some defend the act, and all the rest are affronts to my love for him. There’s not a single thought in my head that can justify it all. I either love him and love the act, or hate him and hate the act.
It’s always been this: choosing between my Mommy and my Daddy. Always. Auntie J***** understands that. And it’s still not over. I can’t love my Daddy because it means I think it’s okay that he murdered my mother – he stabbed her to death. I can’t love my Mommy because it means agreeing that I should take her side against him. I yell at them. I look up to the heavens and I yell at them. Often. I say “this is your fault” and I say “you’d better damn well be getting along now” and I blame them for it all. I don’t blame my Daddy, I blame all of them. And I yell because it makes me feel better. Because it makes me feel like all of the mistakes I’m making now are justified. It makes me feel like I can do whatever shit I want to and it’s all their fault. It’s their fault for screwing me up and it’s their fault for leaving me to deal with it on my own. I yell at them up in heaven or maybe it’s hell or whatever because I have so much anger in me and I don’t know what to do with it. I do things I know they wouldn’t approve of and for a second I feel guilty because I know they’re watching, but then I turn my head upwards and I say (the same words every time) “You know what? FUCK you! You LEFT me!” And then there are the times that the only way I can get through the day is by imagining that my Mommy is right next to me stroking my hair or my hand or that my Daddy is smiling at me with that silly, knowing grin that he and I always shared with moments like “Hello, DaDA” because otherwise I would just crumble.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Journal Entry from Apr 13, 2010
3:09pm
Remember that time that I dreamt Daddy left us? I told Mommy about it for some reason, probably because the rest of the dream was interesting, or because it was a nightmare of sorts. In any case the fact that Daddy left us in the dream wasn't of any importance to me.
Yet, the next thing I know is that my mom is consulting with my father and he's coming to me to ASSURE me that he'd never leave.
You lied to me, you bastard.
You bastard.
You DID leave.
Remember that time that I dreamt Daddy left us? I told Mommy about it for some reason, probably because the rest of the dream was interesting, or because it was a nightmare of sorts. In any case the fact that Daddy left us in the dream wasn't of any importance to me.
Yet, the next thing I know is that my mom is consulting with my father and he's coming to me to ASSURE me that he'd never leave.
You lied to me, you bastard.
You bastard.
You DID leave.
Monday, November 1, 2010
A poem from Jan 12, 2010
I wish I could have told you
I wish I could have told you:
You were the greatest father
The best daddy
The most wonderful papa
And it didn’t matter
How much money you made
How many orders you got
How often you could strike up the will to make calls
It didn’t matter
What mommy thought of you
What D***** thought you felt
Whether or not you had the snow shoveled before we woke up
I never cared if you messed up the pancake recipe
Only that you made them
And let me put on as much syrup as I wanted
(You always did)
I never cared if you bought the wrong brand of whatever
Only that you’d go out and buy it for me
Just ‘cause I asked
(You always did)
I never cared if you could get your book published
Only that you didn’t give up writing
And kept telling us stories
(You always did)
I never cared if you couldn’t take us all on a trip
Only that you wanted to
And that you’d spend time with us even just at home
(You always did)
I never cared if you couldn’t teach me math the way I needed to learn it
Only that you tried
And that you cherished the chance to try
(You always did)
I never cared if you could give me a ride or not
Only that you had my back
And would help me in a pinch
(You always did)
I never cared if we had the biggest house on the street
Or the most elegant one in the best neighbourhood
Or if we could pay our mortgage
I only cared that you were there living with us.
I wish I could have told you:
You did everything right.
Everyone was jealous that I had you as a dad.
If I were them: I would’ve been too.
I love you,
And I know you love me.
I just wish I’d had the chance
To tell you all of these things.
I wish I could have told you:
You were the greatest father
The best daddy
The most wonderful papa
And it didn’t matter
How much money you made
How many orders you got
How often you could strike up the will to make calls
It didn’t matter
What mommy thought of you
What D***** thought you felt
Whether or not you had the snow shoveled before we woke up
I never cared if you messed up the pancake recipe
Only that you made them
And let me put on as much syrup as I wanted
(You always did)
I never cared if you bought the wrong brand of whatever
Only that you’d go out and buy it for me
Just ‘cause I asked
(You always did)
I never cared if you could get your book published
Only that you didn’t give up writing
And kept telling us stories
(You always did)
I never cared if you couldn’t take us all on a trip
Only that you wanted to
And that you’d spend time with us even just at home
(You always did)
I never cared if you couldn’t teach me math the way I needed to learn it
Only that you tried
And that you cherished the chance to try
(You always did)
I never cared if you could give me a ride or not
Only that you had my back
And would help me in a pinch
(You always did)
I never cared if we had the biggest house on the street
Or the most elegant one in the best neighbourhood
Or if we could pay our mortgage
I only cared that you were there living with us.
I wish I could have told you:
You did everything right.
Everyone was jealous that I had you as a dad.
If I were them: I would’ve been too.
I love you,
And I know you love me.
I just wish I’d had the chance
To tell you all of these things.
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