It's time for you to leave me alone. You died. You left me alone then. I know you thought you have been protecting me by lingering over me. Your constant presence is like a weight I can't shake, like lead. I likely conjured you up when I found your obituary. I think I wanted to know you but you were dead and you scared me.
Don't get me wrong, I have wanted to know you. I have wished that someday I would run into you somewhere and we would recognize each other. There would be some story about a witness protection program or something similar. My life would change in an instant. I would suddenly be happy. We would talk for hours. You would tell me how proud you are of me. You would tell me my path in life - you would tell me what to do - my life purpose. We would laugh. You would fly me somewhere. You would hold me in your arms and sing something only I could hear. You would be young. You would be liberal.
You would say that I could be anything because I am your daughter. Just like that I would know what I want to be and would become it. Seeing you, meeting you, would solve all my problems.
Maybe it is these thoughts that have kept you lingering around me. Maybe you think of them too. Maybe you believe you might will yourself into my presence and do those things for me.
We need to accept this isn't going to happen. I want to call you dad, but I can't do it. I hope you understand. Larry is dad, you are Maurice.
Having you around has been painful too. Being introduced as Maurice's daughter was painful. Having my mom, my grandparents and my brothers think of you each time they looked at me, that made me feel invisible. It was painful. I've felt as if I have no personality of my own. No presence of my own. Wherever I went, you were right there with me. It made me something painful for everyone who knew you.
I think your energy sucks life from people around me. Mourning has followed me. It's a vacuum that sucks away joy and energy and I desperately try to fill that void.
I know you and mom think your presence protects me. She's convinced you are the reason I lived through that car accident. Maybe it's true, but at the time I wished I hadn't lived through it. Maybe the reason I didn't want to was because of you.
I don't say these things to hurt you or the people who loved you. I don't know how else to convince you to leave. You need to. I know this now. It's not good for me for you to linger. Yes, I would love to see you, to be more convinced of your presence. That hope keeps me in the past and the "what could have been" instead of the now and real.
I need to start living in the now. We were not meant to walk here together. I would have liked that. Really. Please take that with you. I would have liked to know your touch, to remember what it felt like to be in your arms, to smell you, to know your voice.
You didn't take care of yourself though. I've been angry about that too. You knew you shouldn't have smoked and should have slept more. You didn't and that left us alone.
Your regrets are like a million tiny fishing weights tied to me. My whole life I've worn them and thought them armor. I want to shed them now. This means you have to move on. Forgive yourself. Know that I'm strong. Know that my mom did her best
I think the only way for me to know you now is to know myself. I will always carry who you are with me. I have things you've given me such as lanky arms, my grandpa's ears and brown eyes, my grandma's cheeks and curly hair.
If I can have the weight of you gone though, I can breathe better. I can move better. I can look at myself and see you through me.
You can go now. You can go to whatever it is that you need now.
Love,
Maria Christine
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