To you, the man that fed me, clothed me, taught me how to ride a bike and the one that’s pretty much made me who I am today. Four years or so, you walked out of my life like I’d never even mattered to you. It was as if the times you spent brushing my long blonde hair as a little one, those weekends I used to spend watching rugby with you and those times you used to sit me on your lap and tell me everything was going to be okay, never even existed.
You haven’t spoken to me since the day you left. You’ve never once asked about me, asked to see me or even had the guts to hear what I have to say. I doubt you even remember my existence now.
For the majority of my life you were my knight in shining armour. You were the man that swooped in and saved my mother; you came on your chariot and you were everything I’d always imagined a father to be. You were fun, you were caring and you idolised us kids just as much as we idolised you. I was your princess, you were my ‘Daddy’ and I never ever questioned the fact that we didn’t share DNA. You will always be the man that took me in as his own and showed me the wisdom of this world. You did the very thing my father couldn’t and I will forever be grateful for that.
You taught me to play hard, work even harder and go for my dreams.
However, Four or so years ago, I was left out of the loop. You left, I had no idea, and the son you’d taken on as your own was left to pick up the pieces. Whilst I thought you were the guardian angel sheltering my mother and helping her with her new found disability, you had walked out on us. I rung you every single day (just like I always did) to see if you were okay, to talk to ‘my dad’ and you never even picked up the phone. For all I knew you were just too busy in work, that you’d mislaid your phone and that I’d see you on my return home. It took me a whole three weeks to find out that you’d walked out on me, on us. No phonecall. No see you soon. You were gone just like you never even existed in the first place. It was as if I’d been dreaming since the age of three – that I’d wanted a father figure like you so badly, that I made you up in the corners of my brain. I didn’t.
I still remember your farmers cap, you teaching me how to tie my shoe laces and you telling me to be quiet during Antiques Roadshow.
Losing you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through. Mourning you has been the hardest. How do you mourn someone that’s still alive and kicking?
I want to thank you for teaching me not to trust the unlikely of people. Don’t let your guard down. Don’t throw your all into something that will eventually disintegrate into a big, fat, nothing. You’ve made it hard for me to trust, to care and to find my bearings. When I lost you, I lost my worth and I’m still trying to find it.
Losing my father to death was hard, losing you, my dad because I wasn’t good enough, because you couldn’t care for me anymore, because you just didn’t want to, is even harder. This feeling won’t be going anytime soon.
It’s hard to imagine life with you, where I felt safe, where I trusted and where my dreams were already made. The thing is, you always taught me to go for my dreams. What you didn’t realise was that you were always a part of that. I was never the girl that lost her Dad to suicide when you were around, I was never the girl with ‘Daddy issues’, because you were right there, being the father I’d always wanted. I was so proud that I had you, but maybe that just wasn’t enough.
I’ll forever feel like I did something wrong, like I just never fit the ‘daughter’ bill. I will forever mourn what we had.
I hope you’re well, I hope you’re happy and I wish you everything and more.
Thank you for making me into the human being that I am today. You’ll forever be the man that cared for me, that taught me the wonders of this shitty world and the man that loved me when I thought no father ever would.
My dad would be thankful to you too.