By Wendy : Shywalker

Dad,
It has been a month since you’ve been gone,
I have missed out talks; I have missed you more.
I wonder why I’m bothering, you will never see this letter.

I don’t even know if you are still alive to read this, and
where would I send it? No forwarding address, dad.

All these questions. I thought by now I would be over
this, over the shock and pain of you having to leave us.

Pop, tried to help me understand, why you left, but how
can he when he can’t explain his own disappearances to me.

So we all tried to get on with our life as if you were still here,
but it was a pointless exercise in futility. You weren’t here
and the hole you left, is a gaping wound to us.

I catch mom, crying sometimes, she blames a song, she
heard. She has even blamed stubbing her toe, {the blind chick,
can see better in our house than we can.} I tried to help her,
make up in some way for you being gone, but I’m not you; I
could never be you.

This letter should be about my days, our friends and even my
dates. Instead it has become, a poison pen of recriminations.
I should be sorry for that, I suppose, but you know what dad?
I’m not. You belong here, with mom, kelly and Caroline.

You belong here with me. Your my father! Damn it! I need you.

As you have said yourself, you had a tiger by the tail with me,
I am too much for just one father, I need you both.

With my heart in my hand, I hold it out for you to take back.

Please come back, dad. I love you.

Your Loving Son

Peter