Oh, the benefits of hindsight.
If only I had known back then what I know now!
Three questions I would have asked you
before you died:
~What are all of your favourite things?
I'm sure your son would love to know.
~Would you do it all again?
~How do I begin my career without my mentor?
A booklet of pointers would be great!
Three things I would have told you
before you left us for ever:
~Your son and husband will be fine. After a suitable mourning period, we will become a blended family and take care of each other.
~I will carry on your life's work for as long as I have breath.
~You are my inspiration. That moment in 1992 changed my life for good. A quarter of a century after your death, I still get upset sometimes.
I think you would be immensely proud of your enormous legacy.
Always and for ever,
I was pleasantly surprised
to see you last week
and realise that we finally get along.
It really didn't work so well
when we were younger, did it?
Too different? Too alike?
But the point is
that you always thought it OK
to mention all my failings,
pounce upon my weaknesses
and expect me to improve.
It's been fourteen years
since the most hurtful episode,
and I can finally say
that it's OK
and I forgive you.
What still stings
is not getting a chance
to defend myself
without splitting a family apart.
So I'm telling you now:
your wife is lovely,
but can be selfish, spoilt and a martyr.
That is why
I do not like to come and stay.
You said we were inconsiderate and ungrateful
but conveniently forgot the times
we cleaned up,
put the hoover round,
bathed and entertained your kids,
and I could go on.
The next time
you have an issue with us,
kindly tell it to my husband
instead of me.
After all, you're married to his sister.
have her do it herself.
I suspect you came to me
because he would have laughed it off
and your words would have had no impact.
Well, they did.
Oh who am I kidding?
Let's start that again.
Dear Sperm Donor,
(and I don't really mean the Dear)...
Dear Sperm Donor,
Hmm, that's no way to start a letter.
How about just...
It's very strange
to sit and reflect upon our relationship
now that it is definitively over.
While I'm grateful for my life,
You were irresponsible,
a total liability,
and far, far worse.
It's not difficult to make a baby—
most people can.
It's much harder to be a parent
and some people are incapable of that.
I thought we were just four,
from three different mothers,
but no! there are far more
and you have not been a dad
to any of us.
Too fond of drinking
but completely able to stop when it suited you,
it became an excuse for your violent, warped tendencies
which were there all along.
You didn't know I knew,
but I heard about the pet rabbit
whose neck you snapped just to impress a friend
when you were TEN years old.
I knew about the wife beating,
the times in prison
and the recall to jail
for beating up a police officer
the day after you were released.
I sense my mum's trauma,
hear of her broken bones
and lost teeth.
I admire her tenacity
and her ability to rise above it all
to be enough for me and my sister.
I wanted to give you a chance—
to decide for myself whether you had changed;
whether it was possible to build a relationship.
I wrote you many letters,
and you responded positively.
Before too long though,
letters weren't enough.
You demanded phone calls
so I called you
even though there was no benefit to me.
You begged for my number
so I gave it to you one Christmas.
In your narcissism,
you delighted in calling me regularly
to spend two hours telling me
about your pigeons,
your expired passport
and what you'd received in the mail that week.
That should have been an indication
that you never cared about any of us,
or indeed anybody apart from yourself.
You started nagging me to meet up with you,
which I duly arranged.
Visiting the castle was fun,
and going out for dinner was OK
but you weren't good company.
It was all about you getting your three pints of beer for lunch
and bragging rights about meeting your daughter.
We didn't get along,
I just didn't like you very much,
but of course you wanted more.
This is almost where it ended...
we continued to write,
and you CAMPAIGNED for us to visit you,
to stay for a week.
I finally wrote back
saying no thank you,
I was happy as I was.
That was the wrong answer!
Apparently I ruined your life.
I took the coward's way out.
When we moved house,
I conveniently didn't inform you.
The redirected mail
ensured that I received your subsequent rants
but eventually they stopped.
I was young and naive—
Had I waited twenty more years,
I would have had the confidence
to tell you what's what,
to call you out on the violence,
the unrepentant prison stints,
the fact that you were never there for me
and never loved me.
Was my life enriched
by having met you?
I really don't know.
When you died,
Nobody bothered to inform me
until four months later.
It took a text from my half sister half a world away
to get the message across.
I didn't feel grief,
but conversely not relief.
I honestly didn't know how to feel,
except philosophical about the loss of a life;
the loss of someone's husband
and someone's brother.
But a dad?
No, you were never one of those.
Written by Wafflenose
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