An Open Letter to the Man who was Supposed to be my First Love

I know the title makes it sound like my first romantic heartbreak, but this is an open letter to the man who should have been there from the beginning. Frenchy in Grease has a line that has stuck with me for years. “The only man a girl can depend on his her daddy.”

Can you imagine how much that hurts me? Doesn’t it eat you up inside knowing you have an adult child that you’ve never held, you’ve never wiped the tears from, you’ve never tucked in? You missed my plays and my dance recitals and my choir concerts. You missed my graduation. You didn’t teach me how to drive or how to ride a bike. I didn’t learn how a boy was supposed to treat me, and still, you broke my heart before any boy could. 

I’ve spent 22 years wondering what I did to make you resent me so, and why I wasn’t good enough. What could I, as a child, done to make you ignore my ways to contact you? Where did I overstep? There are things I deserve, and I thought one of those would be loving and supportive parents. 

For years, I’ve wondered where I went wrong, but for brief moments I blamed you. I was angry at you. What goes through your head? Does the guilt tear you up at night when you tuck your other children into bed? Do you even think of me? I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t get a choice, but here I am; a product of two people’s decision. 

I have bounced from anger to bitterness to sadness and depression. I’ve felt guilty and ashamed, yet hopeful and optimistic. I have a whole cocktail of emotions that could be resolved with one phone call. I need closure. 

I am not angry anymore, but the sadness and confusion remains. I saw a picture of you the other day, smiling with a little girl. Did you happen to think of me while you were with her? Did you imagine what I was like at that age? Did it overwhelm you and drive you crazy? Or am I not on your mind, even when you rest your head on your pillow? I dream of you often, so often. And each night that you visit me in my sleep, I weep. I never recognize your face in my dreams, but I know it is you. I picture our first meeting, and we hold each other and cry; happy tears, sad tears, and we forget all about the mistakes of the years prior. It is you and I, at last. 

Every birthday candle, every 11:11, every single time I was throwing a coin in a fountain, I wished for you. I wished that you would come into my life and sweep me off my feet. I stopped wishing as a late teenager. I knew I was being silly. Magic wouldn’t make this true. It had to be you. You had to decide to want me, and I can see now that I am not what you want. 

So forgive me for writing this, and for whatever I may have said on our one phone call that pushed you away, but I am terrified, shaken to my core, that the moment we finally meet will be as they lower you into your grave. 

I am simply a phone call away. I’m a mere couple of states away. It isn’t too late. I’m not angry. I just want to know you. 

All due respect, 

Forever and always, 

Your daughter