I normally shy away from publishing something so personal, but decided to make an exception. I wrote this article for myself and myself only, and only later, after re-visiting, did I decide that my experiences, emotions, and evolution might help and connect to someone else. We've all experienced heartache and loss, and on some level we've all been let down by people who we once saw as the entire world. I hope in this letter you can find something you relate to and understand.

Father,

You left. I was twelve years old and you left. I know it was partly my responsibility - I’ve tried to be an adult about it and take some blame. I said mean things, horrible things that I shouldn’t have said. I was angry and upset. I had a best friend whose father would move mountains for her, and then you would drive me home and we’d be stuck in traffic and you’d say if I wanted to come visit you again I’d need to find myself a ride. I know you were fed up with driving, but you shouldn’t have told me. I didn't understand. I wanted to feel worth sitting in between heaps of hot metal. I was hurt and offended by your disinterest in me and so, a few months later, I told you to stay away from me instead of telling you what I really wanted: pay attention. I know I went about it the wrong way. I’m sorry that I hurt you with what I said. I’m sorry that you won’t ever admit that I hurt you, but I did, and I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. You shouldn’t have listened. I was only twelve. I was just starting puberty and I was scared and I was confused and I had hormones racing through my body like it was the Nascar championship.

I spent my entire life accepting blame. I won’t do it anymore. I’ve grown up enough to know that it is a burden I can not hold on my shoulders while being able to stand up straight, and since it’s come between the two - I am choosing to walk tall. I accepted that it was my fault for telling you I wanted you to stay away from me, but it wasn’t. People have always told me it wasn’t and I would tell them I know, I know, I know. I was the kid and you were the adult, I got it. I do get it now. I was the kid and you were the adult. You were my parent and you were supposed to love me even when I said stupid things, even when things got hard, even when I told you I didn’t want you in my life.

The way I see it, I could have grown up believing one of two things. The first was that you did love me. You did love me and I messed it up, that love is fragile enough to be broken with one mistake, that love meant abandonment and apathy, that what you did to me was love. The other one, the one I am now coming to terms with, is that you never loved me. After watching me grow up for twelve years, you didn't love me, because love is more than that. Love isn't what you did. Love isn’t bear hugs and big laughs and eating bologna sandwiches every Saturday and then pretending like I never existed. I am still here. I am still a person, with or without you. I am still your daughter, even if you couldn’t love me.

I’m writing this to let you know I forgive you. I imagined telling you a million times. I would find your number, call you up, and tell you all of this. The truth is, I can’t. I just can’t. Thinking about dialing your number reminds me of my swollen fingers and heavy eyes, when at thirteen I left messages on your phone begging you to call me back, promising you that I didn't mean it, swearing that if you gave me another chance I would be a good daughter this time. So though I can’t tell you this myself, I have found writing it is enough. I forgive you. I finally realize I don’t need an apology to forgive you. My life is full of fear, and nervousness, and happiness, and excitement, and most of all, my life is full of love. Love is my two sisters. Love is the way my eight-year-old nephew can tell me I'm ruining his life and he hates me, because he knows somewhere deep inside of him that I'm not going anywhere, no matter what. Love is my mother. Love is how my mom sends me texts throughout the day just because she’s thinking about me. Love is hour long talks with her when I’m in tears because I am scared and alone and confused about what is going to happen next and she somehow convinces me it's going to be okay, because wherever I go next in life, we’ll go together. Love is the way my mom knows I’m terrified of all birds and that I know pretty much everything about Harry Potter and how it took six months to convince me to drive again after I slammed my finger in the door during my first lesson and kept driving with a broken finger. It’s the way she knows every crack and bruise I got along the way and still sees the parts of me that are shiny and new. So I just wanted you to know, I forgive you enough to close this chapter in my life. Because though you never loved me, and I never had you, I always had enough. I had more than enough.

And just so you know, I am amazing. I'm funny and I’m smart. I’m really smart, actually. I’m really shy, probably always will be, but I am respectful and I am empathetic, and as my best friend has told me, I can see the best qualities in people and I am never afraid to tell them. People tell me quite often that everything I am is because of you, because of what you forced me to be, but that's not true. None of the credit goes to you. I am nothing because of you. I am the person I am, a person that believes in goodness and honesty and kindness, in spite of you. My mom thinks I’m so special that I’m going to change the world. I know she has to say that stuff and everything - but I think maybe she’s right. I am her daughter, after all.

Respectfully,