A Letter from my Father

I don’t have any memories of my father, he died when I was six months old. It was a sudden death, no one got to say goodbye. He was only twenty-six years old. My mother was widowed and a single mother by the tender age of twenty-four. I was left to grow up never knowing my father.

Ever since I could remember I wanted to meet him, to hear his voice, to hug him, to hear him tell me he loves me.

It’s an odd feeling to miss someone you never knew. To have that feeling of emptiness that death makes, without really knowing how that person made you whole in the first place.

I grew up confused as to why he died so young, angry that he wasn’t alive, and jealous that other kids took their dads for granted, when I didn’t have one.

Every birthday, I wished to just see him, even if it was only for a moment. Every star I saw I wished for him to come back and hug me. As I got older, I realized those wishes were wasted time. He was never coming back, and I was never going to meet him.

One day, a day that was not special in anyway. I must’ve been about twelve or so. My mother called me to her room. As I sat on her bed wondering why I was there she handed me a folded paper.

I looked at the folded lined paper, at first it looked like nothing special. It looked old, the white in the paper had slightly faded and was yellowing in some spots.

I looked to my mother for an explanation, that’s when she told me my father had written me a letter before he passed. My heart felt like it skipped a beat. I looked back down at the paper and couldn’t believe what I was holding. It was as if my prayers and wishes were finally answered. Sure, I wasn’t going to actually meet him, but this was something he had written, something he thought of doing, and it was just for me.

My heart raced as I carefully and slowly opened the letter. I was mixed with emotions of anxiousness, nervousness but also excitement to see what he had written. I treated it as if it was a priceless artifact worth millions.

I glanced over the unfolded paper I looked at his hand writing. There’s something about hand written notes, it just seems so much more personal than anything else. You can tell a lot from a persons hand writing, and I felt that I was able to get a sense of who my father was.

The letter was so much more than anything I could expect or ask for. It was like somehow he knew that he was going to die, and he wanted to make sure I knew about him. In the letter he expressed his love for not only me but also my mother. He explained what his hobbies were as a child and as an adult.

What meant so much to me is that in his letter he explained how proud he is of me, how much he believes in me and no matter what he will always love me.

I couldn’t believe the words I was reading, it was as if he was there with me as I read. These words were exactly what I needed, it was not only a reassurance that my father loved me unconditionally, but also I was able to understand the kind of man he was. It was everything that I needed to know as a daughter and as a young woman who simply wanted her father.

To this day, I still have the letter. Every time I’m feeling low, or miss him, I pull it out and read it.

I believe every father should write a letter to their daughter, giving them the confidence they need and deserve for the tough world that’s out there. Daughters will always need their fathers, and when they can’t be there the letter will.