A letter

Dear Daddy,

I know this may seem strange...me writing to you. But I needed to feel connected. I needed to believe that I could still talk to you. This was the only thing I could think of.

I miss you. I'd always believed the pain would reduce- that, as the years rolled by, I would feel less alone. But I don't. I haven't felt close to anyone in years. Yesterday was somehow so much worse. I spent the night either tossing and turning or staring at the ceiling, willing the tears to stop.

I wish you were here to make me smile. I wish you were here to make me look at the brighter side. Because I can't anymore. I can't believe that everything is going to be okay. I need something to hold on to, to pull me out. And I have a sinking feeling that you were the only one.

You had a way about you- an easy going optimism that I don't think I've ever seen. Everything was just a day away from being okay. And you made me believe it. That belief pretty much left the day you died.

It's very hard to say that. 'The day you died.' It's finality. To know that you're never coming back. That every hurtful word, every stubborn decision is never going to be forgiven. Every joy, every achievement is never going to be shared. I would have loved to tell you so much.

I still remember coming home after topping the class. I wanted to tell you... I wanted to see that look of pride on your face. To realize that I would never be able to was more painful than I thought possible. I can still feel that absolute desolation- the complete loss. And it's hits afresh everytime I think of you being gone.

It's amazing how much it still hurts. It's almost new everyday. And I don't know if it's because I don't want to forget.

I'm terrified, Daddy. I'm scared that I'm going to wake up one day and struggle to remember your face. I know it's going to happen eventually. I'll forget the way you smiled, the way you walked. A lot's already gone. The sound of your voice has faded away. I could only vaguely recall the smell of the soap you used. It came as a shock when I could smell it again. My roommate's using it now and I try to fight back tears.

There are little things that remind me of you. And, for years, I avoided them. I'd go out of my way to make sure nothing would remind me. I don't do that anymore. It's not going to make a difference. Everything reminds me of you.

I know I'm holding on a little too much. I don't want to lose my memories. Like the cliche...they're all I have left. I know I won't forget but each days erases a bit of the image in my mind.

I imagine quite a lot isn't even true. There are little snippets of information that I've exaggerated into facts. But there is so much that is true. You were a wonderful person. Of course you had faults. I'm not denying that. But that's not how I want to remember you.

I want to remember the man who would take his little girl out to cheer her up. The man who would give his little girl whatever she wanted. The man who would listen to his little girls' babble without ridicule. The man who had faith in his little girl and made her believe she could do anything. The man who that girl misses everyday.