Theme: Absent parent, lasting emotional influence
Tone: Reflective, emotional
Focus: Love and pain in the same breath — forgiveness without forgetting
I can’t hate my father. I just can’t. He was my dad – and I didn’t have anyone else.
But he lied. A lot. To me and my sister. He’d make promises like taking us to Legoland, like all the other kids got to do. We were excited. And then he’d say he was too sick to go – only for us to find him at the local café, laughing with his friends, playing chess. Again and again, it happened. His friends always seemed to come before us.
We were just kids – twelve and eight. And still, we knew enough to stop asking. We’d walk past him, pretending not to see. He never came to us, and we never dared go to him.
He wasn’t really there. Not as a father should be.
But I never stopped loving him. That’s the strange thing. Even when you’re hurt, love doesn’t just vanish. He was still my father. The only one I had.
When he passed, 13 years ago, it was heavy. It still is. Every time my sister and I visit his grave – his birthday, Christmas, Midsummer – I cry. I cry hard. That pain doesn’t go away.
He used to say to me when I’d done something wrong:
“I’m not angry. I’m disappointed.”
“I’m not angry. I’m disappointed.”
And if I had just one chance to say something back to him, I’d say the same.
I’m disappointed.
But I love you.
But I love you.
