Letter to My Deceased Father

To my deceased father, I don't know if I miss you.

I feel an ache every time I remember you, or see something you loved or hated or some random occurrence I know you would have commented about. Sometimes I know exactly what you would have said. I know the look on your face and the tone of your voice just like you were sitting next to me.

Those moments put an ache in my chest, but I don't know if that's me missing you.

Sometimes I think its just regret.

I know we wasted so much time, but even now, I can't say what we could have done to avoid it. It always felt like you had an overwhelming need to teach me, guide me, or to protect me. But I always wanted your respect more than I needed your protection. Who knows? Maybe I didn't, but it felt like I did.

I want to do what we didn't do enough of while you were alive. I want to tell you the truth about some things - the hard things. You might think it's easier since you're not here looking me in the eye, but it isn't. I'm going to do it anyway.

I don't miss the awkward silences. I don't miss feeling judged, and found lacking. I don't miss being an adult, and feeling like a child. I don't miss having to fight for a hint of admiration from the man I admire most, only to have it given with a pound of correction. I don't miss Mom having to play the peacemaker. I don't miss having to bite my tongue around you, or having to chose between fake agreement, or peace at the dinner table.

More than anything - I don't miss the hope that somehow things between us might somehow get better with time, even though I knew they never would. I don't have to wonder about that anymore.

But – there are things I do miss.

I miss your voice, the one that sounded so sure, even about things that I know you couldn't have been sure about. I miss knowing you always had an answer, a comfortable couch, or a kitchen door I could lean on, any of which would only cost me a lecture.

I miss just knowing you're there.

I miss accomplishing something big, and you being the first person I call. Like any child, I miss showing off for you. I miss imagining there was still some way I could make you really proud. I miss convincing myself one day we would look back with some deep shared regret over the years we wasted misunderstanding each other. I never told you that, but deep down I always wanted so much for our problems to be some sad misunderstanding. It was easier to believe than the possibility that you just didn't like me.

Dad - you were always my greatest hero, my biggest disappointment, my harshest critic, and my sturdiest shoulder; and if you ever doubted how fiercely I loved you then I'm sorry, Dad, because I do.

I always have.

I'm just not sure I miss you.