Dad,

I sit here, a Tad confused as to what I should be doing. In one hand, you are dying and I should probably reach out and call you. On the other...you tore up your dad card a long time ago and me calling to say "whatsup" does nothing.

Instead of building your little girls up, we are having to and have had to do damage control to the destruction you created. The negative voices in my head eerily sound a lot like you...I'm not good enough, thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough, tough enough, have enough friends, have the dreams you think I should have...well screw you.

You allowed your baby girl to do drugs, drink in your home, be lied to and about, be used as a pawn for money, be betrayed by none other than her daddy whom was always her hero.

I started this thought process with the intention of writings a letter or card to you...reaching out in your final days. And then I remember.

Do a few years of happiness and some fond memories outweigh all of the pain and coming to terms with the dad I was given?

I am so very grateful that the man I married wound never desert his children. That even if something were to happen with us, he would never jeopardize his children for the sake of pride or some new spouse who could care less about dignity and honesty.

I remember good times...bike rides, going on calls at night around the properties, roding the golf carts, Yosemite...and for those memories I am grateful. You could be worse. Are those memories enough to undo all of the other damage?

I have been married for 7 years, your baby girl just got married, I have had a leukemia scare, miscarriage, bought a house, moved several times, started and ended several jobs, went through school...all without one iota of an influence from you. I love my life...my husband, our animals, our family, our friends...in spite of abysmal self esteem that was hammered in to me, I thank God for the positive and loving influences in my life.

So I am sorry you are dying...that you have chosen what you have and whom you have. But I am no longer conflicted. I will grieve the dad I once had...wrestling on the floor, going fishing, reading books...and then the page turns once again.

I feel sorry for you. You could have your children in your life, never have gotten divorced, be more at peace...but then you would be a completely different person. I'm sorry for the cards you were dealt emotionally and never found work through. It must be crippling and lonesome...and I wish it were different. I wish you were a part of my life...I wish that when Michael and I have children they would know you aw grandpa and would go on fishing adventures with you. I wish you were the dad the four year old, curly headed version of me rememebers.

But we can't choose those kinds of things unfortunately.