My father with all color drained from him
Walked out the door from the old house
He walked down the worn out stone path
His suede shoes stepped right through me
The velvet envelope in his right hand
Was stamped with our family's name
He looked at the envelope one last time
and kissed it as a tear escaped his eye
He gently placed it in the mailbox
and retreated back through the door.
I watched this from the grass
and felt a surge of energy
I rose and walked towards that mailbox
and opened it slowly--the stubborn rust fought.
In the shadows of the dusty box
was a velvet letter stamped on it--my family's name
I touched the letter immersed with dust
and carefully opened its contents
And there was a letter addressed to me
It read: "To my beloved daughter,
I'm sorry I haven't been the perfect father.
I've never been bold enough to tell you this
So I decided to write it instead. I love you
and I always have, its just that since--
Ever since your mother died I just--I
couldn't do it on my own
And to see you everyday as a living and breathing memory of her
It--it killed me. You resemble your mother
In looks, your personality, your laugh and smile
So I decided to bury you, well bury me
in my work to separate us.
The purpose of this letter is to explain.
To explain what I was too much of a coward to say
Which was that I do love you and I know
that actions speak louder than words
But, I'm hoping you'll forgive my actions
and soak in my pleading words.
I'm sorry. And I love you Emily. Sincerely, Dad."
My vision blurred with regret
So blurred that I almost missed the last line.
"P.S. The wheel is attached to this letter.
I hope you live the life I've always dreamed
that my little girl will live, Emily."
Truth is, I was able to live his dream and my life told a delicate story--delicate as porcelain
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