Dear Dad,

This will be the hardest post I've written to date. My father passed away this last week. I don't know how to process any of this, but I do know that I'm a writer. I can write about it. So, here we go.

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Dear Dad,

You're gone. You've passed. I knew once we had to call for a well-check. I knew once mom asked me when my lunch was. I knew once babe asked me when my lunch was. I knew you were gone.

I hadn't responded to you since April 29th. Nine days later and you were gone. If I had known, I would've responded. I would've texted and called you more. But I was trying to extend the "calm before the storm." See, there's always one of those. There's always a big, major fight and then there's a calm period- then, another big, major fight. Things were good once we started talking again, so I was trying to extend that time. I didn't know. How could I have? Right? I'm sorry.

Anyway, there's so much I was going to say. Eventually, I mean, I don't know if I ever would have been ready. Hell, I'm not sure I'm ready now. But, I won't ever get the chance to, so here it goes.

Dear Dad,

I love you, I always have and I always will. You'll always be my father. But, you weren't always that much of a dad. I have a lot of pain that I carry from my childhood, a lot of it was on you. Most of it was on you. But, there were also lots of great things about you. You took me to my first concert, you bought me my first guitar, you taught me to appreciate good music and classic Western movies, you showed me the country on road trips, you taught me how to fish, you taught me how to camp, you taught me the words to the most annoying songs, you taught me to appreciate birds, you taught me a lot. You taught me to drive and traumatized me while doing so, but you taught me. You taught me how to see the bright side of things and find humor.

But, you also taught me to take care of others before myself, to be afraid of showing my feelings, to be afraid of thunder because it sounded like your yelling, to be afraid of trusting people, to be afraid of letting anyone into my heart and soul, to not understand boundary setting, to be afraid of you. You taught me to never say no, even if I couldn't do something. You taught me to stay quiet if I am struggling. You taught me to always assume the worst out of people. You taught me that I deserved to be treated how I was.

I could never say no to you. I've always been afraid of letting you down, so I've just always done everything you've ever asked- without question. And in my 28 years of life, it was never good enough. There was always something more. There was always a problem. There was always something I did wrong. I don't have the right career. I should be paid more. I should've gone to school for something else- a more serious and high-paying job. I didn't finish school in the time it would take a regular person to.

Dear Dad,

I did so much for you. So much more than I ever should have. I never had the opportunity to just be a child with you. I took care of my baby brother when we were at your house. I was his parent instead of you. I was Santa Clause for him. I was the Easter Bunny. I was the Tooth Fairy. When you moved and got hurt, I was there. I was the one that drove three hours to be with you in the hospital and during your recovery. Before I left, I made sure you had a home nurse that could help you. My point is, there was just something more all the time. It was never good enough. I never got a genuine "thank you" or "sorry."

You've hit me before. You've had me afraid for my life. You've abused me in every type of way. When I was a teenager, I was done. I didn't want to be alive anymore. A teacher found out. I went into the hospital, where you proceeded to tell me I was faking it all for attention. We went to court so I wouldn't have to go to your house anymore. You persuaded everyone in that courtroom, including my own lawyer, that I was looking for attention and that it was a huge plan concocted by my mother and myself. My own lawyer called me an "emo wannabe" to my face. And that only made things worse. I was hurting myself daily. When I was in the hospital, I wrote you a letter. You tore it up in my face once you read it. My nurse put you on a block list because of how negatively you were affecting my recovery. Didn't you want me to live? Didn't you want me to be okay?

Dear Dad,

I was so jealous of the other kids. Their dads cheered them on at softball games. You criticized every ball I pitched and every strike I swung at. The police were called multiple times to my games. Their dads taught them how a girl should be treated. You taught me that I deserved to wait on a man hand and foot and be treated like crap. Their dads were dads. You were more of a person that you made me feel obligated to care for.

You made me so afraid of things. You made me afraid of an imminent nuclear war. You made me afraid of Yellowstone erupting. You made me afraid to go to the mall. You made me afraid to walk around my neighborhood. You made me afraid to go to school. You made me afraid to do anything. You made me afraid to be in a car with anyone else driving. You made me so afraid of things.

Even as I'm typing this out, my heart rate is increasing. I keep feeling like I'm going to have another panic attack. I'm trying to breathe through it. This is my processing. I need to get this out. I've never typed it all up like this, not all at once. You're not here anymore and I still feel your hold on my life. I'm terrified to post this. What if you see it? That's crazy to think

Dear Dad,

I sound horrible. I sound like a horrible daughter. My whole life I've been so afraid of being a horrible daughter that I haven't realized I've been the best. I've done so much more for you than I ever should have. I deserved so much more love and so much more attention. I deserved the world from you. I didn't get it, though. Why didn't I get it? Why didn't any of us kids get it?

I'm sad that you're gone. I don't know how to process it. I know nothing could have been done, but I should've realized sooner that something was wrong. I don't know what happens next. What do I do with all of this? All of the hurt, all of the pain, all of the questions, all of the answers...what do I do with them?

We were never truly good. There was always something I didn't say to you. We were never truly over an argument or an issue. Nothing ever got worked out. Nothing got apologized for. Nothing was acknowledged after it happened. How do I deal with that? How do I deal with never truly knowing if you loved me? I mean, people insist that you did, and maybe that's true. But I've never been more confused in my life. I've never been more lost.

Dear Dad,

I can't help but wonder if you would've apologized in your last moments. If I was there, would you have acknowledged all of the pain you've caused me then? Would it have changed anything for me?

I really do love you and I really do miss you. I'm sorry things happened the way they did. I'm sorry you were alone. I'm sorry you're gone. I'm sorry we didn't visit you weeks ago like we talked about. I'm sorry I didn't respond to your last text. I'm sorry I didn't answer my phone enough. I'm sorry.

We're planning your funeral now. I hope we get everything right. I know you've told us so many times everything you wanted, but there's no will, Dad. We're working so hard to send you off properly, and I hope it's right. There's so much to do. Flowers, your army stuff, picture boards, music, everything seems all too much. But, we're managing. All four of us are working together.

All while dealing with a ton of pain. It's so hard to see my big brother cry because he doesn't feel that you loved him. It's so hard to see my little brother cry because he feels like he's responsible for everything to make you happy. It's so hard to see my sister cry because she doesn't understand. All of this while dealing with my own emotions. It's so hard, Dad.

Dear Dad,

I hope you're in a better place. I hope you never forget that you were and are loved. I hope that you're not in pain anymore. I hope that you are having the time of your life with Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Billie, Uncle Tim, and all of your past family and pets. I hope that you're good.

I hope that I will heal soon. I hope that my siblings will heal soon. I hope that we are no longer afraid of things. I hope that we learn to take our lives back. I hope that we learn that we are all worthy of a father's love and that we deserved more. I hope that we understand that nothing was our fault. I hope we heal.

Dear Dad.

You're gone. You've passed. I knew once we had to call for a well-check. I knew once mom asked me when my lunch was. I knew once babe asked me when my lunch was. I knew you were gone.

I'll miss you. I'm glad I could get some of these feelings out. I hope that somewhere, wherever you are, you'll know and understand. I hope that you're sorry and that I can feel your apology someday. I hope that someday I can fully know that you loved me.

Love,

Your little girl

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Thank you, guys, for sticking with me through that. I didn't know what else to do except write. The past few days have been exhausting, in all aspects, and completely overwhelming. I'm still not sure quite how to process things or move on with life, but I'm getting there. This was step one.

So, thank you. Thank you for letting me share this. This was incredibly difficult for me to write, but I think I needed to.

Let yourselves do what you need to do to overcome something or to work through something. Give yourself permission to feel.

Until next time,

Aylin

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National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1- 800-799-7233

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255); www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

Suicide Prevention, Awareness, and Support: www.suicide.org

Lifeline Crisis Chat: https://www.contact-usa.org/chat.html

Crisis Text Line: Text REASON to 741741 (free, confidential and 24/7)

Self-Harm Hotline: 1-800-DONT CUT (1-800-366-8288)

Family Violence Helpline: 1-800-996-6228

Planned Parenthood Hotline: 1-800-230-PLAN (7526)

National Council on Alcoholism & Drug Dependency: 1-800-622-2255

The Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386 or text “START” to 678678. Standard text messaging rates apply. Available 24/7/365. (Provides crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer & questioning—LGBTQ—young people under 25.)

Veterans Crisis Line: https://www.veteranscrisisline.net

(The above resources are obtained from https://www.psycom.net/get-help-mental-health )