A Letter

A short story of a woman being asked to initiate contact with her estranged father.

That blinking line.  Was there a more frustrating thing?  What is the point of this?  She thought.  Why am I even thinking about writing this?

She paced.  It was there.  In her head.  Everything she wanted to tell him.  As soon as she sits down to type though…it’s gone.  She can’t even think of how to start.  Should it be “Dear…” or “Hi…” or “Let me introduce myself…”?

She went downstairs and put the kettle on.  She needed the distraction.

Sweaty palms and all she was doing was drafting an email.  Shallow breathing and a sheen of sweat and she hadn’t so much as typed a single letter.

She carefully poured the boiling water into a mug, trying to steady her shaking hand.

She slowly ascended the stairs once more, determined now that she will do this.  SHE WILL.

She opened the blank email and took a deep breath.

Dad
Can I call you dad?  Should I call you dad?  That’s been my biggest problem with this, this email.  I’ve come to terms with everything else as best I can.  But now you’re coming back.  I have to deal with this all over again.
How do I address you?  I haven’t seen you since I was seven years old.  You aren’t really my dad are you?  You didn’t come to my parent teacher nights or do the tooth fairy thing.  You weren’t there when I was sick or struggling with school or boys or work.  Those are the things that make you dad.  I suppose you are my father…but that just makes me think of that movie you know?  “Luke I am your father”.
I’ll stick with Dad but I might change it before I hit send.
So Nan tells me you’re coming back.  It’s been twenty years and you’re coming back.  She was nervous to tell me.  I guess because I’ve avoided the subject of you constantly she didn’t know whether she should.  She did the right thing though.  I should know I'm going to see you. 
And I am going to see you.  Intentionally or not, I will see you.  You’ll be in the street or the shop.  On the bus.  I have no intention of leaving the town I grew up in.  I will not leave Lilly.  You’re coming back to MY town. 
Nan gave me your email address.  Asked me to write to you.  I told her I would �" and here I am.  Clearly rambling because I have no idea what to say.
I don’t want to get to know you. 
I don’t want to meet you. 
I don’t want to see myself in you. 
I don’t want to see Lilly in you.  I definitely don’t want that.
So I guess I should tell you about me.  But again I don’t want you to know about me.  This is a weird position for me to be in you know? 
I’ve spent so long not thinking about you.  And now you’re all I think about.  You are the all-consuming thought for me.  Do I want to see you?  Should I see you?  Should I ask my questions?  How will I feel about the answers?  What do I want to hear? 
I don’t remember you as a person.  I remember you as a 'thing'.  Is that hurtful?  Should I care about your feelings when you clearly didn’t care about ours?

That line stopped her.
She re-read what she had typed and was happy with it so far.  A little rambly in places, but surely that could be appreciated.  Writing to a stranger (more or less). 
But that line.  Should she care about his feelings?

I guess I’m like Nan in that way.  Considerate to everyone, even those who don’t deserve it.  Not necessarily a bad characteristic, but there you go.  I’ve just decided I’m not going to censor this.  I’m not going to edit it.  I’ll be honest.  And I’ve also decided I really DO NOT want to see you.  Please don’t seek me out.  Please don’t come back to MY town.  If you care about me at all you will stay out of my life.
Nan said you’re ill.  You want to come home and be with your family.
Cancer she says.  Should I feel sorry for you?  I don’t care.  You didn’t care did you?
Nan says she’s “at peace” with everything, and while she will never utter a hello in your direction, she wishes no ill will on an already sick man.  She thinks you left us and everything that happened was nothing to do with you.  She found God and I have to admit she does seem a lot happier.  I’m not big into the Jesus thing but it makes her happy so I leave her to it.  Plus she doesn’t know the truth.  She doesn’t know everything.  She thinks you leaving was a catalyst among catalysts.  She doesn't realise you were the explosion.

Do you know I know everything?
I guess that’s one of the big questions I would (and wouldn't) like answered.
I know what you did to Lilly.
I know why you left.
I know mum covered for you.

Do you know you’re the reason Lilly killed herself?  That you creeping into her bed tormented her, and the fact that mum knew and did nothing other than throw you out.  Did mum tell you that's why you were out?  Did you volunteer to go or did you just leave as soon as you realised?

I remember Lilly in my room, crying.  She begged me to call the police.  I was seven!!  I didn’t know what was going on.  I feel so guilty for never calling the police when she told me to. 

I had no idea you were in her room at night.
Mum knew.  Mum knew Lilly said.  She just nodded when Lil told her about you and then you were gone.
Lilly was so mad about that, she knew someone should have called the police.  There was something on the news that day you see.  That’s why she told.
She shouted at me to call the police, mum told her it was over.  “Don’t call the police Em” she told me.  It’s over, he’s gone. 
I remember that, her telling me not to.  Lilly telling me to do it.  She looked so sad.  Her face red from crying. I wanted to call the police but mum said no so I didn’t. 
I blame you for my guilt.

Lilly hung herself a few days later.  She left me a letter.
No one knows that.  I hid it.  I still read it.  It’s faded but I know it word for word.
You hurt her.  She was sore and scared and you told her if she wanted to stop you’d come see me instead.  In the letter she says she’s glad she saved me.  I couldn’t save her but she saved me from you.  I still cry when I read that.  When I think of that line.
Mum killed herself the day after Lils funeral.
I blame you for that.
She left a letter too.  One for me and one for Nan.
She told Nan she felt Lilly needed her on the other side and that I would be loved here by all the family but there was no one for Lilly on the other side.  Suicide driven by grief they said.
My letter was all apologies.  Sorry for what happened to Lilly.  Sorry for leaving me.  I ripped her letter up when I was about thirteen or so.  Her letter was bullshit.  So is this.  This email is pointless.  Your hope for some kind of….what?  Reconciliation?  It’s not going to happen. 
So I guess that’s it.

When I started typing this I thought I wanted answers.  Why did you do that to Lilly?  Why did you leave me alone?  Why did mum not intervene?  Did you threaten her?  Did she just not care about us?  Now I realise all I really want is for you to know was that I know. 

I know more than Nan knows.  Nan thinks Lil killed herself over school bullies or something.  That mum killed herself over grief.  Should I tell her the truth?  I have no idea.  I guess I need to talk to my therapist about that.
I blame you for that too you know.
Therapy!
I can’t be honest and truthful with people.  I tell them Nans story.  It’s easier than “my sister was raped by our dad, mum knew and covered for him ‘til Lilly threatened to go to the police then she kicked dad out.  She refused to let Lil go to the police so Lil killed herself then mum did the same”.  Not exactly a response for that is there?  What would people say?
“My sister was bullied and committed suicide, my mum was overcome with grief and followed her.”  That’s an easier way to phrase it. 
I work with abused kids.  I have you to thank for that I guess.  Who knows what field I would have gone into if history was different?  I probably would have done something with helping people though �" I am a naturally caring and considerate person, even when the other person doesn’t deserve it.  I guess you are the exception to that rule.

I’m sure you know I have nothing to do with your family.  Aunt Dee tried.  Granny Dee tried.  I just refused to see them.  I figured they knew what sort of person you were.   They raised you after all. 
I have nothing to do with your family.  I want nothing to do with you.

I hope this email is clear and gives you whatever sort of clarity you need.
You killed my sister.
You killed my mother...I don't care about her though.  She should have done something!

Please do not come back.
Stay where you are.
Die alone and in pain like Lilly.

EM

She didn’t even realise she was crying. 
She read the complete email three times. 
She changed nothing. 
She felt nothing.

SEND

Author's Note

All constructive criticism appreciated.
I am currently working the fathers response.

Reviews

[Woody]

very moving story. beautifully written in the form of a letter. a moment of weakness that we hear of quite often, unfortunately, destroys a whole family. Em writes lucidly and doesn't mince her words.
thanks for sharing.