To the absent father on Father’s day,

You left. It doesn’t matter if I was six or sixteen. You left and took a big piece of my heart with you. I’ve spent so much time reeling over what I could’ve done that was so abhorrent that my father could write me off so easily. I’ve spent so many nights crying, wondering what my future looks like, and if you’ll be in it. Will you watch me graduate college? Will you attend my wedding? Will you be there for the birth of my children? Will you watch them grow up? Will you love them the way they deserve to be loved?

Do I even want you to?

Sometimes I don’t think I do. Sometimes I think it would be so much easier to just cut ties and be done altogether. No more in and out or empty conversations over my career or my relationships. Because sometimes I feel like it’s none of your business. You can’t just be half-gone. You can’t refuse to see me and still want to be involved on the surface. You give me just enough time to move past the hurt, then pop up and open old wounds. Because, whether you know it or not, with every Facebook message you send to say “I still love you” or “how are you doing?” I hear you mocking. I hear you telling me I’m not welcome in your home. I hear you saying just enough to make sure I’m still doing what I should be but not enough to really care. I reply to those messages because I want to ignore what I hear. I want to feel like I’m having a nice catch-up with my dad. I want to feel like I matter – like I’m still a real part of your life like I used to be.

But I’m not.

I shouldn’t have to rely on memories of when we were happy to remind myself that it wasn’t always this way. I shouldn’t feel the need to hold tight to my collection of good stories to avoid thinking about the fact that I don’t have you anymore. I don’t have my dad. You haven’t passed away. I didn’t stop caring. There’s no border blocking you from me. You chose not see me. Imagine that ringing in your ear on a daily basis. Imagine how completely worthless you’d feel if you knew that your father disowned you. Imagine how you’d feel knowing that a big part of all of your successes are in attempts to feel like you are worth more than you think you are – to prove to somebody that they are missing out.

Because you are.

I am living a good life. I am happy. I have friends that care. I have a family that supports me in my endeavors and always comes to see me succeed. I am in a relationship with the person I plan to spend the rest of my life with. I am on the fast track to achieving my dream career. I am doing so much better for myself than I ever imagined I would. I am happy with my life.

But I still want you in it.

I love you – even from fifteen hundred miles away. Even though things are broken. Even though it’s been two years since I last saw you. Even though I’m an adult now. I want you here. I want you to see me graduate. I want you to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day. I want you to know your grandchildren. I want you to want this, too.

So, to the absent father on Father’s day:

The ball’s in your court. I hope more than anything that this will be the last Father’s day that I have a need for a letter like this.