Late Letter to My Late Dad

When I was little I didn't understand why you left, didn't come back, call or write.
On the occasions I did see you, I was scared of you. You were like a stranger.
I remember the only time you punished me was for hiding in the dark with a friend and not answering your call.
As punishment, you gave me a mile-long list of words and their definitions to memorize;
words like responsibility, respect, discipline and dignity. It was my 10th birthday.

I saw you less and less as I grew up, the last time at Leigh's wedding in 1996.
So many words I didn't say, haven't said until now.
Now that I'm not your daughter and you're not my dad, I understand.
You were human, fallible. You made bad decisions.
I realize now how difficult life can be and how easily bad decisions can be made.

I didn't have a wedding because I couldn't tell you not to walk me down the aisle.
I didn't introduce you to your grandson because I couldn't explain to him my feelings about you.
I didn't come to your funeral because we had said our goodbyes long ago.
Now that you've been gone five years I can finally say, I forgive you.
It was always too late to ask you to forgive me.