Dear Daddy
Five letters never sent
Do you remember the mineral baths at Rockfort? People said the waters had magical properties, warm and embracing. You were always there, your powerful strokes cutting through the water like a sailboat on a calm summer’s day. I would watch in awe as you glided through the water, lap after lap, while I splashed and played in the safety of the shallow waters.
You tried to teach me to swim, but my little arms and legs couldn’t grasp the concept. Yet, you never gave up. Instead, you taught me something even more valuable—the art of floating.
You showed me how to surrender to the water’s embrace as I lay weightless on its surface, like a delicate lily pad on a tranquil pond. In those moments, fear dissipated, replaced by a sense of serenity and trust.
It was at the “Y” years later that I learned to swim.
Your patient guidance and unwavering love laid the foundation, allowing me to dive into a lifetime of aquatic adventures.
Thank you, Daddy, for teaching me to float and instilling a love for the water that will forever ripple through my soul.
In the days of walks and bus rides to give Mummy a break, you used to describe scenes where I, with uninhibited passion, belted out the lullabies and rhymes used to coax me to sleep.
You said the other passengers, captivated by my melodious voice, would sometimes join me. In your eyes, I was a fearless performer, not a hint of shyness within me.
I have vague memories of those performances.
I recall awareness washing over me when I sensed the scrutinizing eyes of the world and craved invisibility. It was then that I sought solace in books, singing to the trees, sky, and waves, as they became my confidants.
Our once lively walks and bus rides transformed into silence, punctuated only by your pleas for me to be sociable, talk, and sing. By then, I was tired of performing; a has-been at age ten.
To please you, I devoted myself to excelling in school, striving for perfection with every “A,” every accolade, every trophy.
But nothing I achieved was enough to satisfy your wish for a flawless child.
All I could offer you was myself.
Your infidelity has hurt me. It shattered my trust and left me questioning everything I believed about our family and the love that binds us together.
The pain I felt upon discovering your betrayal was indescribable. It was as if the ground beneath me crumbled, leaving me lost and confused.
Daddy, please understand that my anger is also directed towards Mummy for her decision to forgive. I know forgiveness is a virtue, but it feels disloyal to me. It feels like she has overlooked the depth of your betrayal and the impact it has had on our family.
I am sharing these feelings with you because I want you to understand the damage caused. I am not writing this letter to seek revenge or to destroy our family further. Instead, I hope that by acknowledging the pain I feel, we can heal and rebuild trust.
Know that my anger and disappointment arise from love and a longing for a better future for our family.
It’s been a while since we last spoke. I need to tell you some things, so decided to write you.
As I’ve grown into adulthood, I’ve realized that life isn’t black or white, and people are complex with both flaws and virtues.
I want you to know that I forgive you for the pain and heartbreak your infidelity caused our family. It took me a while, but I realize that forgiveness isn’t about condoning your actions; it’s about freeing myself from anger and resentment. Holding onto that negativity only hinders my growth and happiness.
Daddy, life has taught me that forgiveness and acceptance are important. Through forgiveness, even of our own mistakes, we find healing and the strength to move forward. So, although I will never comprehend your choices, I love you.
I cherish the memories we share, our laughter, and the love you show us.
I will never forget your easy laugh, your captivating storytelling, and your tuneful whistling. As for your singing and love of opera, when you couldn’t remember the words, your rendition of the Mario Lanza Drinking Song, especially the “la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la” section (13 las!) never failed to bring a smile to my face.
I hated and loved when you pulled the covers off me on lazy weekends, insisting I needed to breathe fresh air. You were the first health nut I ever knew, you and your relentless pursuit of a healthy lifestyle.
I have always admired your extroverted nature, your ability to converse with anyone, and your genuine interest in people. As an introvert at heart, I lack that trait.
I hope we can reconnect and rebuild our relationship.
I will always love you and treasure our memories together.
I wanted to write this letter to tell you how discombobulated I feel. When we spoke last evening, you, too, seemed confused.
Our conversation started on a wonderful note.
You seemed happy to hear my voice and kept telling me how good my voice sounded. You told me you went swimming with a friend, Wilbert, and asked if I remembered when we used to go swimming. I told you I remembered Rockfort and the saltwater pools at Port Royal and Bournemouth. You mentioned you and Wilbert had visited a friend’s house with a pool.
Still a health nut, huh? I asked. You fell silent and then asked if I knew Brad.
Who? The only Brad I know is my brother.
You asked who I was.
I told you my name.
You said you had a daughter with my name.
My heart pounded in my ears as I realized what you had said.
I am your daughter. I’m Meredith!
Oh, Merry, my dear. How are you? It’s so nice to hear your voice. Your voice sounds good. Wilbert and I went swimming. Do you remember when you and I used to go swimming?
Daddy, I’m sorry I was so abrupt. I lied about baking and needing to remove bread from the oven.
My emotions overwhelmed me. My tears choked off my voice.
I calmed myself enough to call Brad, only to cry again.
We’ve lost him, I sobbed.
Author’s Note
Thank you for your indulgence. These letters though mostly fictional, serve as a cathartic release for me.
It will be my dad’s birthday in a few days. He died sixteen years ago and I still miss him, still laugh at stories he told, and now write stories about and for him.
I, Brutus about dad, cosplay, and one of our dogs.
The Flying Cockroach about my dad’s pursuit of an insect.
Upcoming…
A poem about starlings:
Murmuration, 16 March 2024
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I was well into adulthood when I learned of my father's infidelity. It was during WWII. I suppose it was a common thing during the wartime but it shook my mother to the core. Dad had been dead for about 30 years and mom had remarried when we learned of this. His infidelity had given us a half sister, Cynthia, who lived in England. Her mum had told her about her biological father; thus began her pursuit of her half siblings. She and I kept in touch until her death.
These were lovely, Caro. The last one so familiar and so heart breaking. Of course, made me think of my dad too, 13 years gone. I look forward to catching up with the other pieces you’ve written about your father