Recently I learned about a new holiday: Write-to-Your-Father Day. The holiday, celebrated one week before Father’s Day, will be on June 14, 2009. The purpose of this holiday is to write a letter to your father whether or not he lives with you, whether or not you know how to contact him, or whether or not he is still alive.
Right now, you might be thinking, “so if I never mail the letter, what’s the purpose?” We all have thoughts and feelings we’d like to share with our father. If we know him and he’s alive, maybe we have never taken the time to share our thoughts and feeling with him. If we don’t know our father, or he has passed on, this activity gives us the opportunity to bring closure and release our thoughts, feelings, and emotions.
While my dad was alive, I didn’t take the opportunity to share many of the thoughts and feelings I had with him, because I didn’t know how and was afraid to try. Eight years after Dad died, I was a participant in a Native American spiritual healing ceremony. As a part of the ceremony, each participant brought something to “give back to the water,” something we wanted to let go of. I wrote a letter to my Dad and at the appropriate time, placed the letter in a beautiful bowl, burned the letter, and scattered the ashes on the water. Below, I share parts of that letter to my dad and hope you take the opportunity on June 14th to write a letter to your dad. If you happen to send the letter, what a gift you’ll give to you father. If you don’t send it, for whatever reason, what a gift you will give yourself.
“Dear Dad,
As you can see by the date, I’m writing this much too late to ever have had a chance to give it to you to read before you died. But, knowing the life you led as a father, husband, and Christian, I would expect you’ll catch up to the letter in the not too distant future.
I’m writing for a few reasons. I didn’t really get to say good-bye to you the last time I was with you in the hospital in Columbus, a couple of days before you died. I also have been carrying so much anger and frustration concerning you, and it’s time to let go of that. I need to ask your forgiveness of me, and I need to say, “I forgive you, Dad.”
You probably know the number of times I think of you, Dad – more often as I get older. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve decided to do some research and see if I can find out some more about your biological family. For some reason, that lack of information is creating a big hole inside me that needs filling. If I don’t find out any more than I know now, at least I will know that; I will also know I tried and probably at that time will let go, but I can’t right now…
I know how hard you and Grandpa Poole had it when you were young. Mom told me about your coming back from St. Louis and living in a tent along the riverbank around Scipio and North Vernon, fishing for your food, and hitchhiking the twenty-five miles to Columbus to look for work. Mom said she knew the people with whom you worked would always describe you as a hard worker, and I know how important it must have been to you to have that kind of recognition. I am very grateful for that work ethic. Hopefully the best parts of it rubbed off on me, but I think I may be a bit lazier than you! I know it wasn’t always easy to find work, but somehow you did and provided so well for your family, which I also know must have been so important to you. That provider role was one you wanted to do well, and you did. We never wanted for much…
I know mom did more of the disciplining of me than you – partly because you were not around much and also perhaps because you didn’t want to. I can understand that now. I know the good ol’ guilt trips you gave me about making Mom cry when I pulled one of my many escapades at the time left me with some “stuff” to work through. I also know being raised on guilt wasn’t all that uncommon with our generation…
I’ve been frustrated about your later years because of your illness and not being able to spend more time with your grandchildren and all of us. I can remember how frustrating it was for you to have us come visit and not be able to join in the fun. I just wish it could have been different – Eric and Tracie missed something, as did we all. In my heart, I know you would have loved to play with your grandchildren.
So, Dad, before this letter turns into a “woulda, coulda, shoulda” piece, I just want to say thank you for all the blessings we had as a family. You never had us out of your thoughts in terms of our best interests, and I know you overdid it many times in providing for us – in jobs that were very hard in terms of physical labor. Did you make the most of your gifts? Of course you did. Did you encourage me to try to better myself? Of course you did. I also know that you did your job in giving me birth and those first few early years. The living part has always been up to me – so I no longer want to use you as an excuse for my own living and not living. I want to take responsibility for that and am trying, more and more all the time, to do just that. It’s hard. I do love you, Dad, and your memory. Please forgive me for holding you up as a convenient excuse for all these years, and not doing my own work. Thank you for everything.
Good-bye, dad
Love, Eddie
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