Daddy Dearest

I found a poem today my father wrote to me the day I was born. He wrote about his excitment at seeing my first steps, hearing my first word and being a part of all the firsts that would follow. I don't know what changed from that day, but it didn't take very long.

My mother had an affair twenty one years ago and I am the result. Her fiance stayed with her, something I'm sure he regretted later. They did their best to give me a happy family, including my father in the events. For the most part the pictures from the time read like a story book, something you'd expect to have a happy ending.

What the pictures don't show is the hurt my father was feeling. He had lost his father when he was a child, it was a pain he never recovered from. He would tell people he couldn't remember these various things about his dad, things he felt he should. I understand what he meant more than the ones he said it to did.

When I was just two years old my dad killed himself. It was a spontaneous decision, one morning he decided to just jump from the balcony. He left no note, no explanation, just a lot of questions. Why did he do it? What was different that day from the ones before? Had he considered doing it before? I can drive myself insane with these questions but I can never get closer to any answers.

I didn't learn about these events until just a few months ago when I turned 21. My mothers fiance raised me as his own, even after he divorced her. I appreciate it more than he'll ever know because unlike my dad I had a father at all the important events in my life. However, with this new information I view those events with a new perspective and something is missing.

I understand how much hurt he felt over the loss of his family. Those who knew him said he never did recover from that loss at just twelve years old. But this poem speaks of his excitement and joy. How could he feel that one day and kill himself another?

I try my hardest not to blame myself. What could I have done? But with the expectations he lists in this poem I can't help but wonder if I had let him down. Was he unhappy with me? Was I not what he wanted in a daughter?

These questions hurt me more because he's not here to reassure me than they do just existing. Perhaps if the father I knew growing up was a good dad it would be different, but he wasn't. A good man yes, but a good father no. Perhaps if my mother had kept something of my dad around, a photo or even this poem, I would feel closer to him. But instead I'm a grown woman trying to get to know a dead man.

I hate him for it, and yet I love him. I want to hug him but I have to resort to screaming and cursing his name. I want him to brush away my tears, instead I have to learn to hold them in. It's just not fair.

My darling baby girl,
today you were born
and suddenly I understand
what my life has been for.
You look more like me
than I thought a little girl would.
And already you act like me
more than you really should.
I can see your first steps
as you come towards me
and your first word sounds like
a beautiful melody.
Your first date will be a
traumatic experience I'll try to survive,
surely no worse than trying to
teach you how to drive.
Someday dressed all in white,
though I pray this isn't for a while,
I'll take your arm and hold on tight
as I lead you down the aisle.
I'll do anything it takes,
give everything I have away,
to help you be as happy
as I am today.