My father passed away in a nursing home on a September day. I never remembered him telling me he loved me. Upon hearing his death, I didn't feel the need to cry. I struggled with my lack of strong feelings over his passing, knowing it was not healthy for me to avoid sadness. On Christmas Day of the year, I was reflecting on as many good memories of my father as I could. I decided to work out my feelings, so I sat down and wrote my father a letter. Dear Daddy, I remember something today. I remember when I was 3 years old, mom carried me right before bedtime and you sang "Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep" to me, and I remember your voice like it was just yesterday. I remember the warmth of you lying next to me and how special I felt at that moment. Then my mom carried me off to my own bed to tuck me in. I remember times when I could sit out on the porch with you and watch an approaching thunderstorm, and you would tell me the scientific facts behind lightning and thunder. I thought you knew everything. I remember you taking my two brothers and me on trips to a stream out in the country on summer days. We would walk along the stream, picking wildflowers to take home to mother. I want to thank you for giving me an appreciation of nature and science and of God's beautiful creation, Earth. I want to thank you for making us take part in "family worship" every evening after dinner. I remember that Bible stories and the Golden Rule on how to treat others, and I learnt how to appreciate music in my life from the hymns we sang. I also learnt to harmonize with my sisters. And most of all, I want to forgive you. I forgive you for not being able to tell me that I was a special girl and that you loved me. I longed for your spoken affection. But I realize something in your own upbringing would not allow you to express your feelings verbally . I realize that you did the best that you could with what you knew. I signed the letter and put it into my wooden box to join many other cards and letters from my family and loved ones that I cherished. But somehow, it had not brought any relief I desired. On New Year's Eve, I remember the letter to my father. I took it outside to the yard. Then I built a fire and dropped it into the flame and watched it burn. As I thanked my father for giving me life, the tears came. I released all the grief and whispered, "you were my father... and I love you." Why did the writer struggle with the feelings upon hearing her father's death?
Because she couldn't accept her father's death. Because she wanted to hold back her sadness. Because she knew she should have felt sad. Because she had a mixed feeling of love and hatred.