An open letter to my Dad...

I am, and have always been a Daddy's Girl. 
When I was younger, you would see me chasing after my Dad, hanging off his arm, demanding to sit on his shoulders. Demanding his attention whenever possible because I only had eyes for him.

When my sister died, suddenly it was me and Dad on our own.  The space she left was uncomfortable and as much as I loved my Dad, there was never a more raw reminder of what we had lost than when it was just me and him.  Now I had eyes only for him, but they saw the world differently, and it hurt.

My parents were young and their marriage didn't last long. I watched a lot of fights take place on the different doorsteps of the several houses we lived in. Every time things weren't working out, we packed our lives into banana boxes. The only thing in my life that wasn’t changing whenever I blinked was Dad. Dad was a rock, I know because I pushed and pushed him just to make sure, and he didn’t go anywhere. 

There was no limit to what dad would do to try and fill the gap that grief had created, and make a new kind of normal for me.  I started bringing friends on every weekend trip, every 2 week school holiday, every family dinner. If it made me happy, Dad would accommodate it.
Meanwhile I was too selfish to see that the man trying to heal my heart was simultaneously burying himself in work to get away from the weight of his own hurt.  Somewhere in my self pity over the things I had lost I had never considered what he had lost.
Anytime I thought about Dad losing his daughter I couldn’t escape my own narcissism and I feared that maybe he thought it should have been me. An accusation I would later attack him with every time I was angry.  The truth behind it was that I never had a fear that was bigger than the fear of disappointing him. 
In my late teens I used my Dad as a punching bag never stopping to think that maybe he couldn’t handle it.  One thing I was always certain of was that he loved me unconditionally and I can tell you from experience that it is the people closest to use that we are the hardest on. I always thought there was no limit to what my Dad would forgive and through countless tantrums and threats he always proved me right. 
 
I was a master of meltdowns and a drama queen and like I knew he would, whenever I cried wolf, he came running. I faced a lot of heartbreak and anxiety as a young adult and I have no doubt that I will face more, I wish I could take back the hurt I must have caused whenever I took my emotions out on him. I wish I could be a 15 year old girl again, just for a day, just to tell him I loved him, I appreciated him and that he was doing an incredible job. 

For everything I’ve overcome in 24 years…



Dear Dad,
Thank you for being the very first love of my life. I’ve always been immeasurably proud to be your daughter. 
Thank you for teaching me to have standards, not just in coffee and beer, but in love, and in myself. Thank you withstanding every over reaction and for always making the answer simple. Thank for showing me that sometimes there isn’t an answer, but there is always another day to begin - "its a good thing they keep making days". 

Thank you for being there the first time my heart broke, and every time after that. Thank you for being a father and a mother, letting me make mistakes and still helping me to  fix  the damage. 
Thank you for teaching me about hard work and generosity and showing me the kind of person I want to be.  Thank you for helping me become that person. 
Thank you for putting me first. I always felt loved and I always felt important because I was loved by you, and important to you. I always felt that I could take risks and have adventures because you would always be there to help me if (when) something went wrong.
Thank you for giving me so many reasons to try harder and do better and showing me that we are enough of a reason for life to go on.
Thank you for never giving up on me.
There is no one in the world who I am more grateful for, or who I need more in my life. 
With all my love and endless pride..
Your little girl,
Gessica