I take it back. Anything I've ever said about everything.
I take it all back.
It has finally set in and I can't.
I just can't.
My world crashed down.
I can't do this.
How the fuck does anyone do this?
It chokes me, sucks the air right out.
I can't handle this.
I've got to do something, anything.
Something drastic.
I wanna smoke I wanna drink I wanna cut off all my hair.
I can't do this.
Where the hell have all my oxygen and courage gone?
Dear Daddy,
You can't go. Come back. Please, oh God please. Anything, I swear anything. Just come back. Be alive. Talk to me, hold me. I still need you. You're missing all my best years and all my minuscule moments. I can't do this without you. You were supposed to stay forever: my big strong daddy.
How can you just go like that?
Your daughter.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Letter #2- Spirit
Dear Dad,
This sucks so bad.
Sometimes I want to just come home and see you in your chair. I want to sit down and have you drill me about my day and I want to tell you all the smart ass things I said and make you smile. It's like you're still here and I'll just walk through the door and there you'll be and there I'll be and everything will be normal. And it sets in a little bit more everyday that you're gone.
I wish I could ask you things and hear what sarcastic comment you have to say. That's been the worst. Not getting to talk to you or be around you and just have the advantage of being in your presence. I told my counselor that I couldn't remember your presence. I could remember your voice, your face, your laugh but not you actual being. It's hard to explain. And she just looked at me. A single tear slid down her face, the first one I had seen from her and she said,
"You won't remember it, honey. You'll have pictures and videos but you'll never have his aura or presence or spirit ever again because it's gone. It's gone from this world forever."
God, that's so horrible.
This sucks so bad.
Sometimes I want to just come home and see you in your chair. I want to sit down and have you drill me about my day and I want to tell you all the smart ass things I said and make you smile. It's like you're still here and I'll just walk through the door and there you'll be and there I'll be and everything will be normal. And it sets in a little bit more everyday that you're gone.
I wish I could ask you things and hear what sarcastic comment you have to say. That's been the worst. Not getting to talk to you or be around you and just have the advantage of being in your presence. I told my counselor that I couldn't remember your presence. I could remember your voice, your face, your laugh but not you actual being. It's hard to explain. And she just looked at me. A single tear slid down her face, the first one I had seen from her and she said,
"You won't remember it, honey. You'll have pictures and videos but you'll never have his aura or presence or spirit ever again because it's gone. It's gone from this world forever."
God, that's so horrible.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Letter #1- Cinderella
My counselor told me to do this. She said if I wrote down memories of him that I could always remember him, his voice, his smell, his being. Like words on a computer screen could really represent everything he was to me. As if commas and apostrophes could actually keep him alive in my mind, could bring him back.
And He's never coming back. Period. End of story. Cue credits and dramatic music.
But honestly, it doesn't feel that way.
How could someone who was once here be gone in a second.
How is that possible?
Someone so valid, so real..he's a memory and that's it. Nothing more.
Presently I'm in stage number one: denial.
It's kinda of pleasant in a twisted way. I still have this hope that he could still be out there. That maybe they found some other person's body in that far away place. It can't be him, it just can't. And I won't accept it, I just won't.
Death is just so incomprehensible.
But the point of this, at least for me, not my counselor, is that I want to feel like I'm talking to him. Like I'm writing this and he'll read it and smirk at me when he's finished. Like he always did..
Dear Daddy,
I took your Steven Curtis Chapman CD yesterday. Hope you don't mind. You always were taking my CD's so I figured just one wouldn't hurt. Especially not this one. And I know I laughed at you when sang that Cinderella song to me with tears in your eyes but I thought you should know I laughed because I didn't want you to see how deeply it touched me. I could see in your face how much you loved me and for some reason I couldn't let you see how badly I needed you. And I remember that face in my dark moments when I miss you so much my chest aches. Your eyes were closed and your hand was patting your thigh offbeat. Tears slid down your cheeks as you sang me lyrics about me being Cinderella and going to the ball and meeting Prince Charming. I remember you crying because you loved me so much.
And when I heard that song on the way to school I felt a crack reverberate down my heart. There's this line where Mr. Chapman sings, "and the clock will strike midnight and she'll be gone.."
Neither of us had any idea you would be the one to leave when the clock struck 12.
But I would give anything for one more hour with you, one more dance.
Your daughter.
And He's never coming back. Period. End of story. Cue credits and dramatic music.
But honestly, it doesn't feel that way.
How could someone who was once here be gone in a second.
How is that possible?
Someone so valid, so real..he's a memory and that's it. Nothing more.
Presently I'm in stage number one: denial.
It's kinda of pleasant in a twisted way. I still have this hope that he could still be out there. That maybe they found some other person's body in that far away place. It can't be him, it just can't. And I won't accept it, I just won't.
Death is just so incomprehensible.
But the point of this, at least for me, not my counselor, is that I want to feel like I'm talking to him. Like I'm writing this and he'll read it and smirk at me when he's finished. Like he always did..
Dear Daddy,
I took your Steven Curtis Chapman CD yesterday. Hope you don't mind. You always were taking my CD's so I figured just one wouldn't hurt. Especially not this one. And I know I laughed at you when sang that Cinderella song to me with tears in your eyes but I thought you should know I laughed because I didn't want you to see how deeply it touched me. I could see in your face how much you loved me and for some reason I couldn't let you see how badly I needed you. And I remember that face in my dark moments when I miss you so much my chest aches. Your eyes were closed and your hand was patting your thigh offbeat. Tears slid down your cheeks as you sang me lyrics about me being Cinderella and going to the ball and meeting Prince Charming. I remember you crying because you loved me so much.
And when I heard that song on the way to school I felt a crack reverberate down my heart. There's this line where Mr. Chapman sings, "and the clock will strike midnight and she'll be gone.."
Neither of us had any idea you would be the one to leave when the clock struck 12.
But I would give anything for one more hour with you, one more dance.
Your daughter.
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