letter

Dear Dad,

I need to say this again: I’m so anxious, completely drained, and just plain tired. I’m really eager to see you and Mom.

Every time I talk to Mom on the phone, I hear your voice in the background: “I’m not talking to him,” “Let him try to step foot in this house,” and so on. Alright, fair enough, you’ve got your right to react. But, I’d say your behavior is a bit… melodramatic.

We haven’t spoken once in the past few months. You’ve built this wall, literally barricaded yourself in your own prejudices. If I had a dollar for every time I heard 'I’m not talking to him,' I'd be rich enough to retire for life.

Honestly, if I depended on you financially, you’d probably cut me off from my inheritance, I swear. I don’t think about it every day; I stay busy, but I don’t know how much time you’ve got left. I could say the same about myself, after all.

Since that Ford smashed into my car, it’s like my life split into “before” and “after” (yeah, I know, cliche). All the small stuff just faded away, and now I’m just aching to come home. Maybe someday you’ll understand where I’m coming from, and we can sit in the kitchen over tea like we used to. Assuming, of course, that the wall you’ve built isn’t made of reinforced concrete.

Love, 
Sasha