A letter

Father,

Funny to be writing you. Desperate, actually. I'm just not sure what else to do. I know without a doubt that you would be appalled by what is going on now. It's not what you wanted and I'm pretty darn sure that it's not what you ever imagined. But it's happening. And I do not know what to do. Funny, that. I've never felt that before. I thought I had, and that's amazing and shocking because when I realize that I am actually without a recourse, actually desperate, it's terrifying and I know that you could and would tell me what to do. You were here. You were. I saw it, I heard it. I listened to you and I watched you put your head in your hands without a single idea left, with only an eye to us for ideas, any ideas. Come to find out, we don't have them. And there was nothing but quiet. That's desperate. I understand that now.

You know that when we tell her she's being unreasonable, she doesn't hear us, won't listen to us. She gives us the same threats she gave you. Well, she can't divorce us but she's all piss and vinegar just the same. And she uses the same cruel words. Did you wonder if she meant it all? I wonder that. I wonder if she knows what she's doing and saying - it's so clear and so powerful it seems real. But is it? Did you wonder? Did she defeat you as she's defeating us? When you slept on the chair or in the guest room, was it about that defeat? Nevermind, I know that it was.

I can't believe that I've lived through two months without you. Two whole calendar pages without my father. I can't believe the ground I walk on is so raw and unfamiliar. I can't believe that I watch the news and think I need to call Dad so that I can understand it. How am I going to understand the world without you? How? How do I handle Mom without you? My goodness, all the times you told me that you didn't know what to do and I thought I understood. I had no idea.

I walk through your house, I look at your pictures, I smell your cologne and I hold your toothbrush. I do everything I can to put myself as close to you as possible. I look in the mirror and try to see what you saw in me. I am beautiful. I am smart. I am independent. I am clever. I am your daughter. I am so many things that I am because you saw them in me. But am I capable of taking care of what is left behind? I want to be your miracle. I'm just not sure how. I am closer to knowing you than I ever have been - and it's because I'm tasting the same pain and desperation that you did. I don't like that, but I'll take it. And I'll take it because of you, because of what you taught and lived and practiced. Watch over me, will you?

I miss you,
Fink