Kait Mae

Dear Daddy,
When you died, it hit me harder than anyone realized it would. I still feel the pain every day, some worse than others. I never thought that you wouldn’t be there for me as I grew up. And then you were just gone.
I still remember those days in the hospitals. Momma and I would drive for hours just so I could see you for a weekend. And then the cancer went away. You took me to a deer watching retreat. I had just gotten my ears pierced that past weekend with my mom. When Zach accidentally pulled my earring out, you were rushing to get my ear to stop bleeding. You were freaking out that he had hurt me, but also calm because I was freaking out over how much blood there was. Loretta found an earring back and cleaned my found earring. You held my hand while I cried about my ears.
The next trip we took, you took me to a lake with Loretta and her family. That was the first time you shaved your head. You were tired of your hair falling out in clumps. Everyone took me out on the lake because they didn’t want me to see you were getting worse. When we got back, I saw that your hair was missing and just went to my room and cried. I still believe that it would’ve been easier on me then if I had been there with you when you were shaving your head. That night, you let them take me body boarding and I was the only one who wasn’t thrown off the board. You threw me into the water later that day while cheering for me winning a bet. That was a fun trip and I wish I could go back.
The last Easter we spent together was the last spring you lived through. I remember it only because I spent it with you and Loretta’s family and friends. I still have pictures from that night. You and Loretta came in and took a picture of me in a strange sleeping pose. According to anyone who sees it, I’m dancing in my sleep.
I was ten when you died. I skipped the entire last week of school to be with you. You couldn’t respond to anything I said. I remember sobbing “I love you” and being carried out by my mom and aunt. I haven’t stepped inside that house since you died. A few hours later, they wheeled your body out of the house and I just fell to the ground and wouldn’t move for an hour.
My mom sent me with Loretta’s kids and ex-husband to go to a waterpark. I cried the entire time. Nothing could make me smile. That day was the first time I thought that maybe if I was dead, it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I wondered if drowning would hurt as bad as they said it would. I never got the chance to test the theory. It started pouring rain out of nowhere.
My mom got remarried a year later. You were there to tell me that living with these new people would be okay. I started going to a new school. I didn’t have any friends. And you weren’t there to tell me it would be okay. You weren’t there, and you never will be.
High school came around. I lost all the friends I had made because of a bully. People I didn’t even know told me to kill myself, told me I was a waste of space. Justin’s best friends told me it was my fault you died. After school that day, I went to bed at four o’clock and slept until seven the next morning. My mom came and checked on me. She said I just needed to stand up for myself and left to get ready for work.
You would’ve told me that it wasn’t my fault. But since you weren’t there, I believed them. I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe if I had been a better daughter, you would still be alive.
That summer, my depression got worse. I started going to counseling for the first time. I was told that I just needed to work on my self-image. She said that would fix my problems.
Sophomore year started. The bullying got worse with every day that passed. Even freshmen who didn’t know me, but were friends with my main bully, told me that it was my fault anything bad had happened. It got to the point that I would hide in the library during lunch and not eat anything. During band practice, I kept to myself. After school, I walked to the convenience store and got myself a snack to eat while I waited for band to start.
In October of that year, I had had enough. I wrote a letter telling the guy I liked that he wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore. And I put it in his band locker after band practice, then went home. When Momma and Ricky went walking in the pasture, I snuck in to their bathroom and took a handful of Advil. I went to sleep and woke up the next morning devastated. I had a major headache and was sad that I had woken up at all. I got dressed and went to school like nothing had happened.
My band teacher pulled me in during band class to ask me about the letter. He let me sit in his office and do organizational work for him, so I wouldn’t have to see my bullies while I cried. The next class period, I was called in to the office. My mom was standing there, crying. She took me to my counselor, who then put me on antidepressants. She said that I needed to take these every day and change schools. Nothing else would help me except those two things.
I cried myself to sleep that night, wishing only that you were still here to hold me while I cried.
I transferred schools for the next two years. Nobody knew who I was or what I had been through until the end of junior year. For a debate, I was told to tell my story of how I had lost you to cancer. I cried in public at that school for the first time that day. I made everyone in the room cry, including my teachers. Nobody ever questioned why I didn’t talk about you after that.
The rest of high school went by fine until we had “senior’s” day and pep rally. I was standing in a circle with my classmates and just started crying. Everybody said I was too emotional, but my best friend backed me up. She said that I hadn’t thought 3 years ago that I would be graduating, let alone alive. I went home that night and realized one thing.
You wouldn’t walk me at graduation.
Graduation preparations came, and I had to choose someone to walk with me at graduation. My mom already said she would do it, but I needed a male figure to also walk. Ricky went to Justin’s graduation, so he was out. I called Jo-Jo and he said he would always do whatever he needed to make me happy. So, in the end, your son took your place since you couldn’t be there.
I made it to college. And you weren’t there to help me move in. And you weren’t there when I had my first boyfriend. And you won’t be there when I get married.
And it hurts.
It hurts that all of my friends have their dads that will walk them down the aisle one day. They’ll have a father-daughter dance like I always wanted. They’ll get to see their dad hold his grandchildren one day. But you won’t.
You didn’t see me graduate. You didn’t get to scare my first boyfriend, or any of the others after him. You didn’t get to see me turn sixteen, or eighteen; you won’t get to see me turn twenty-one and get drunk like we always joked I would.
I know there are others in a similar situation. There are girls out there who don’t have their fathers anymore but choose to let their stepfather take that place. They know that their father isn’t there, and they make do with what they’ve been given.
I can’t.
Nobody will ever take your place.
They can’t.
I can’t let anyone take your place because I remember you holding me as a newborn. I remember when I dropped a banana in your boot and you got so angry at me. And I remember the next time you saw me, I wasn’t allowed to have bananas. You only let me eat apples after that.
The more I write this letter to you, the more I realize that I’m honestly scared to be you. Even if I wish you were still here with me.
I know you cheated on Momma. And I know you left of your own choice. And I know you weren’t good at commitment. But you were a great father to me. And I’m so thankful of that.
Nevertheless, I don’t want to become you. I’m scared that I’m going to, and I know that if you were here, you would tell me that I wouldn’t be. You would tell me I’m better than you ever were, even if it was a lie. Because that’s what made you a great father.
And that’s why I wish you were still here to tell me everything’s going to be alright.
I love you and always will,
Your daughter,
Kaitlin