An Open Letter to My Father

When I was a young girl you came to all of my basketball games. Even though you were required to travel for work, you always made sure you were there. No matter what. You cheered from the bleachers even if we lost. You were always my biggest fan.

When I was a young girl you would play with me in the driveway. You put up a basketball hoop just for me, so we could spend time together. You loved playing ball and encouraging me to be better than the day before. You didn't let me win. Instead, you challenged me.

When I was a young girl you bought me my first acoustic guitar so we could play "Stairway to Heaven" together. You taught me how to play basic chords and held down the string that my pinky finger couldn't reach. You taught me how to appreciate music.

From the very beginning, you carried me through life. My favorite place as a young girl was on top of your shoulders, walking through the park.

Thank you for never putting me down.

When I started getting older, I began to shut you out. You would come to my basketball games but I ignored you. You begged me to come shoot hoops in the driveway but I declined your persistent offers. You bought me more guitars, but I remained locked away in my room.

When depression took over me, I turned to drugs and alcohol. I turned away from you and locked you out of my life. I threw away the key. I quit the basketball team, we moved to a new house where there was no basketball hoop, and I pawned the guitars you bought me for drug money.

I stopped caring. I never stopped loving you, but I stopped letting you love me.

When I went to college I never called you. You loved me, so you let me go. Neither of us had any idea that opiates would destroy my life.

The day before Father's Day 2017 my world shattered around me when your broken heart came to the surface as I had overdosed for the fourth time. I heard your voice call my name, but I thought you were a thousand miles away.

You approached me, tears in your eyes, arms shaking, and held me in your warm embrace. You told me you were terrified that I was going to die. You couldn't bare to lose me. I did what I did best and shut you out once again. I couldn't find the key. I refused to let you carry me.

I'm sorry I continued to fall victim to the needle. I'm sorry for the pain I put you through. I'm sorry that you had to lay awake at night wondering if you would ever see me again. I'm sorry you had to send me those desperate text messages, pleading for me to get help.

I'm sorry that I didn't want it.

When I finally wanted help, I knew you would answer the phone. I knew you would drive eight hours to come get me. I knew you would take me to rehab. I knew you still loved me.

Thank you for still loving me.

Thank you for finding the key.

When I saw you sober for the first time, I saw the twinkle in your deep, blue eyes as I walked through the door. You had tears in your eyes, your arms were shaking, and once again, you held me in your warm embrace. This time, you were grateful I was still alive. I was grateful too.

At two years sober, I call you every day. I send you updates on my life, because I never want you to live in the fear of losing me again. You deserve to sleep peacefully. You deserve to be free of fear. You deserve for me to let you in.

I love you for never giving up on me. I love you for the forgiveness you have shown me. I love you for your kind words in the darkest of times.

I love you for carrying me.

I will never forget playing basketball in the driveway. I will never forget your enthusiasm at my ball games. I will never forget going for walks in the park with you because whenever I got tired, you carried me on your shoulders.

Thank you for carrying me when I couldn't walk. Thank you for loving me when I couldn't love. Thank you for always believing in me.