A Note to my Father

Dear Daddy,

Remember the summer of '84? You were about to get married to Mom, and I was about 7 years old. Do you remember my first two wheeler bike? I do. It was a shinny yellow base, white wheels, white handle bars with yellow and white streamers, and a plastic white basket on the front. And you were determined that I was going to learn to ride that bike before we moved. For weekends on end you and I would be in the front yard with that bike, in the grass since there where no sidewalks. You would hold the handle on the bike of the white banana seat and guide me back and forth until I begged to stop. Eventually, I got the hang of it and you started to let go more and more often until one day I was ready to ride it all on my own.

I know that these past two years have been difficult for you. I can only begin to imagine how I would feel if L, Big A, or Little A were going through depression so bad. I know that this is not the first time that we have been down this road, that we struggled with depression and hospitalization when I was younger and again in college. And I bet you thought, just like I did, that I was so settled down, a husband, three beautiful children, a wonderful job, I bet you thought that everything was going great. I bet you thought, like I did, that I had made it through the worst parts of my life and that only good things were left to come. Boy, weren't we wrong.

I wish that I could fully explain to you how this all went downhill, starting in 2011 and leading up until now. I wish that I could explain it to myself. But, honestly, I don't really know why this happened or how things got so complicated and confusing. I wish I could say, "this is the moment that I caught major depressive disorder." But I can't. Because it's not something that you can "catch". It's something that was probably hidden under the surface for a long time, wearing me out, and I finally couldn't hold it in anymore. I broke. It literally felt like I was snapped in half and I was left with no way to put myself back together.

Jump to June 24, 2013. The day that started the end of it all. I had to call and tell you, once again, that I had become more than suicidal and I was involuntarily hospitalized. I had hoped to never make that call to you again. This was the 5th time I was hospitalized in 9 months, and it was highly embarrassing for me. It was hard each time I had to tell you where I was. I felt like I was disappointing you, letting you down, letting myself down.

To say that I was surprised by your reaction would be an understatement. You wanted out, you wanted "off my roller-coater." I was crushed. I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong. The doctors were not happy with how upset I was. They told me that I shouldn't have visitors until things calmed down; they didn't even want J to come see me everyday. I was put on suicide precautions and watched 24/7. I cried more than I have ever cried in my life. EVER.

You are my father, my Daddy, and you were supposed to be there for me forever. You used to tell me when I was little that you would NEVER leave me the way (Bio-Mom) did, and here it was, feeling like you were doing just that. I wanted to talk to you, to figure out how I could fix it. You e-mailed me and told me to stop stalking you. Pieces of me began to die. I was in the hospital for almost 5 weeks, probably 3 more than I needed to be because I was so impacted by this.

The months after I got out of the hospital, I would tell myself that you were just figuring out how you felt and what to do; telling myself that I should just give you space. I would attempt to talk about it with my therapist or with J, and I would just collapse into tears and frustration. I felt abandoned. I felt that you no longer cared or loved me. I felt that I had disappointed you to the point that you didn't want me to be part of your family. I would e-mail you every couple months and try to reconnect, and I was always turned down in one manner or another.

Fast-forward to a few weeks ago, after a few very hard sessions, were my therapist and I decided that I would send a letter, one more letter, one more attempt to try and reconnect with the family. I needed to send it, to let you all know that I could no longer do this, I would no longer hold on hope that we would reconnect. I needed you all to know that if you didn't want to talk to me, that that was fine, but I needed closure and to move on.

I didn't think that I would get a response, but Mom texted me and wanted to have breakfast. I was terrified, but I went because I was craving some sort of contact. And it went well. And she explained to me what really happened, why you really backed off. J had written an e-mail that highly offended you and by backing off you thought that you were honoring what he had insisted on. You thought that you were doing what my family wanted.

I didn't know about this e-mail until breakfast last Sunday. No idea that it ever existed. I wish that I had known sooner. I wish that someone on one of the sides had thought to bring it up to me. I wish that it was never written. I wish that none of this had ever happened.

But it has happened. And we now need to figure out how to move on from this. I need to learn to trust you again; trust that I will not be hurt or let-down. I am guessing that you are still needing to heal your wounds, that this might be just as hard on you as it is on me.

We need to learn to move on, whether that be together or separate. While I am working as hard as I can, my journey with this depression is far from over and I sure could use all the support that I can get. I could use someone in my corner just solely there for support, to call me and say that they love me, to have lunch with and let me vent, to make me feel as safe as I used to when I was 5 and you would tuck me into bed.

I need my Daddy.

So, the ball is in your court now. The path we walk down is your choice, whether that be walking it together or splitting at the fork. I place this into your hands, letting go as much as I can.


Your M