Your daughter Ann is forty-six years old. The last time you heard her voice was in 1998. From her point of view, you have ceased to exist and will never exist again. She slammed the door and you deserved it. You had no excuse. You were a suck-assed father. A damn drunk who only thought about himself. I know. I was there. I heard all your whiny shit, and I know when you’re feeling particularly remorseful, you send short emails saying how you love her. Why couldn’t you say that when she was a girl? I know she’ll never answer. So do you. Some wounds don’t heal.
God, what were you thinking? Were you thinking at all? I know you were pissed off at the world most of the time, and you took it out on her. You were a major league asshole, plain and simple. So, get on with it. Just move on. There is nothing you can do to make it better. If you are in pain, get used to it, because it’ll always be with you.
It’s funny when I think about it. You could pass her on the street today and not recognize her. Last time you saw her was just after Tucker was born, and she was twenty. She told you then she was fed up. You never asked why, thinking it was a passing thing. You had no clue.
At least the cravings are gone, and you cleaned up your life best you could. You have been a decent father to Tucker, and now with Samantha, you have to continue. Failure is not an option—period. I don’t believe heaven and hell are a place, and neither do you. It is something that resides within. Something we create. You’ve spent a long time in hell’s flame. Sweet Grecy has given you a taste of heaven. Don’t blow it. Love her back with all your might. Give her more than she gives you. Live the life you’ve always dreamed of. Let Ann go. Let her have her life away from you. Feel your apology deep inside, and hold it tight knowing she will never hear you speak it. It’s something you must do. Throw in a little forgiveness, too. Live for today. Remember, yesterday is history, tomorrow a mystery.
Best wishes, Bro,