Is there such a thing as an Everlasting Father?
One who stays till the story’s over?
Can fathers be good, or will they only ever hurt us?

I’ve been plagued with Daddy Issues my entire life.
My father was an alcoholic, and too often, that overshadowed every good thing about him.

When I think of my dad,
I remember the way his bloodshot eyes stared right through me when he was drunk.
I remember his girlfriend’s screams as he wrapped his hands around her throat;
the tears she shed and the bruises she woke up with.
I remember the time he pinned me against a cabinet with a knife in his hand,
just as my mother walked in.

But,
I also remember the time we took a whole plate of gummies home from Paula Dean’s buffet,
and the jokes we made whilst recklessly devouring raw shrimp,
and the time he accidentally squirted jalapeno juice in his eye.
I remember when we were attacked by a swan,
and how we used to go fishing,
and that we would listen to Classic Rock and Bluegrass in the same car ride.
I remember how radiant his blue eyes were sober,
and his crappy broken heart tattoo.

I remember so many good things, so why have I tried to forget?
Perhaps because if there is nothing good to remember, there is nothing to grieve.
But, I must make myself remember, because
I miss my Dad, and that’s okay.

Sure, he wasn’t the most stable father-figure a girl could have, and sure, he messed me up;
what parent doesn’t?
He wasn’t perfect,
but he was mine, and I’m grateful for that.

So Daddy, thank you.
For trying.

I forgive you for all the things you did, or didn’t do, but
I still wish you had stayed.