The following letters are responses to a prompt we shared. In the post we said, “This is an opportunity to say the things you’ve always wanted to but never have before. Don’t think of it as a story for us, think of it as a letter to him. If your letter is full of love and joy, that’s great. And if it’s not, that’s OK too. If you decide to share it with him, that’s up to you. Writing a letter can be a cathartic experience even if it’s never sent. If you’ve always wanted to say something to your father but haven’t taken the opportunity, consider this your invitation.”
The letters have not been edited and they are listed here in the order they were received. Before reading them, understand that relationships with fathers span a wide spectrum and may not match your own experiences or expectations. Feel free to share your comments below but please be respectful.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
Life has not been gentle with you. It took from you the love of your life and your son in an act of unimaginable violence. Yet somehow, it never took your kindness.
Even through heartbreak, you continued to show up for us. You fought for us, protected us, guided us, and loved us when we needed it most. I believe Mom knew in her heart that one day we would be okay because we would still have you.
She knew you would carry us through the darkest days.
You became our strength when we felt weak, our shelter when life felt uncertain, and our constant reminder that love survives even the deepest loss.
Though you were one parent, you gave us the love of two. Not because you could replace Mom, but because you loved us enough to make sure we never felt alone.
Thank you for fighting for justice for our family. Thank you for your sacrifices, your resilience, and your unwavering love.
We are who we are because you never gave up. You tell us “we’re the strongest kids you know.” But Dad, YOU are the strongest person we know.
Happy Father’s Day. We love you more than words can ever express. 
This is your very first Father’s Day, and our son and I are so incredibly blessed to have you.
From the moment he entered this world, you became his protector. His arrival was far from easy, and some of the scariest moments of our lives happened in those first hours. But when everything felt uncertain, you acted without hesitation. You moved fast, you stayed strong, and you protected our son. I truly believe that because of your courage, he is here with us today he is healthy, loved, and thriving.
Your strength never goes unnoticed. Through some of the hardest moments we’ve faced, you carried us when we felt like we couldn’t carry ourselves. When I was scared, you gave me comfort. When I felt broken, you helped keep me whole.
You are the heart of our little family, our safe place, and our greatest source of strength. I cannot wait to watch our son grow up learning from your kindness, courage, and love.
Thank you for being the amazing father I always knew you would be and the incredible husband who stands beside me through everything.
You are our hero.
Happy Father’s Day.
We love you more than words can say.
Love,
Your wife C and your son E
Dear Dad,
It took me a long time to see you as you are, a guy who makes mistakes just like everyone else. I wish I knew how to be closer to you. The older I get, the more I see the worst of you in me, side by side with the best parts of me. You and I are not so different after all, even if you don’t want to see it. You probably do, which is why I piss you off so bad. Sorry to say it, but I am your reflection. I love you because I love myself, and I forgive you because I forgave myself. Thank you for pulling it together when we needed it the least, it’s good that you’re here now.
On your 26th Father’s Day, I love you anyways.
Dear Dad,
You are the reason I believe in miracles.
It’s funny to think that the person I once disliked the most is now the person I admire the most. Growing up, there were times when alcohol came before many things in your life, including our family. Those years were difficult, and they left a lasting impact on me.
When you decided to get sober, I wanted to believe you, but it was hard. I had seen you try before, and I wasn’t sure this time would be different. But one day, it was. Your sobriety stuck. More importantly, you spent years proving through your actions that you had changed.
The man you are today is completely different from the man I knew growing up. Your strength, perseverance, and commitment to becoming a better person inspire me every day. I truly believe it is a miracle that I get to know this version of you in my lifetime.
I will always be grateful that you overcame your struggles. What amazes me even more is that you continue to work on yourself each and every day. You never stop trying to grow, and that is something I deeply admire. You’ve taught me to always make the next best choice.
Thank you for showing me that people can change, that redemption is possible, and that miracles are real.
You are my miracle.
Love,
S.
FATHERS
We sit together at last
light on your cement steps between ruinous beds of lavender
to watch Rainier glaciers fade across the bay.
I shuck these antiquated shells the way
you taught decades ago. We take our turn
with the limp treasures we find.
Sipping your hidden gin we talk
of past families and defeats and deaths and change
our subject often. We yield to the white top curls rushing
beach pebbles bellow. Somewhere
from remote sand smoldering driftwood rises
to rebrand memories of distant youth
and beach and blaze. Childlike we throw
our empty shells downhill, over fence and bramble
towards your lagoon. We two luxuriate
in the language of youthful legends, of childhood beaches,
of faltering, of those too quickly lost. Again
we sluice our subject. The mountain also blends
into night, wriggling free from its ribbon of red, to slip it
again up and over and beyond. Our less restless expec-
tations no longer diverge now that we both
sit in this ruin. Even our sun races away
behind the hill behind our backs
to cast us both cold, yet
as you instilled, we keep at these oysters
discarding hollow shells downhill.
I think I rewrote this at least six times trying to find the right words and trying to make it poetic. I’ve come to the realization that there are too many things I want to tell you.
The grandchild you never got to meet looks at me in the morning saying, “I’m a clone.” He thinks it’s in reference to me since we look similar and he has my attitude. What he doesn’t realize is that I look like you, and he’ll never get to know you in person.
Thank you for being my dad. For teaching me what being there for family looks like, but also reminding me through your actions that not all family deserve time or space if they aren’t there through it all. You were a man of few words and an introvert in many ways, but you were loud in your actions and teachings. I’ve learned to advocate for myself and for my family because of what I saw you go through, even until your last days.
Before moving into memory care, you had one lucid moment with me on the couch. You let me know you wouldn’t be there long because of the hardship on Mom, me, and the financial impact. You were right. Less than two months later, you left us.
I miss you, Dad. I’m still sad you’ll never meet my toddler who has your middle name. We’re taking him to Disneyland for his birthday this year, and I know you’ll be there too, just in a different way. Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
Dear Dad,
I trust all is well and you are happily doing whatever you do along with Mom. It’s been over 22 years since you departed this world and I have to say you are living in my head every single day.
After you passed and as I was going through your things, in particular your WWII kit I came up with countless questions I wished I could ask you, and there are countless untold conversations we should have had. Perhaps it was just each of us being unwilling or unable to start the talk when you were alive.
I have learned in reading old family letters how frustrated you were with me when I was in early elementary school that I struggled with focus and memory. I learned that in 3rd grade the teacher told Mom that she thought I was learning disabled. You scolded and punished me because I struggled.
I still have my first baseball mitt you and Mom gave me. I remember playing catch once or twice and you got so frustrated you quit after about 5 minutes, never to toss the ball with me again.
It’s amazing what kids remember and how certain words and actions are seared into our heads.
One huge lesson I learned was, as I said at each of my three daughter’s wedding receptions, is “Because of and in spite of our parents’ best intention we seem to have turned out pretty darn good”.
What I learned is to celebrate my three girls’ achievements, console them when things didn’t work out, be there for them (whatever that means), and tell them I love them and am proud of them.
I missed that part growing up. I supposed you showed your love by providing a house, food, and clothing but I somehow don’t recall hugs, praise, being told about love, understanding what it means to become a man. I remember in pretty good detail the threats and being on the receiving end of “the strap” that hung on a hook in the kitchen.
A lot has happened in the past 22 years. An ugly divorce, a second marriage to an amazingly kind and caring woman, A Master’s Degree, international certification in project management, and I was named on two patents. We have traveled in Asia, Canada, Mexico, and extensively in Europe.
I have so much to talk about with you, to tell you that the 3rd grade kid with supposed learning challenges has been successful, “because of and in spite of” his parents best efforts.
I my head we finally talk, you and I, we can finally agree to peacefully coexist, to get along. You would be proud of what my 3 daughters, your grand-daughters, have accomplished and what cool families they have created.
And I will forever wait to hear you say you love me and are proud of me.
S—– (the name you called me forever)
Hey R—-,
It’s been a weird journey. Let me fill you in. I spent most of my life doing creative things—making wood-fired ceramics, gardening, brewing, cooking, canning, sewing, and fermenting. I learned all of that from the women who were actually present in my life and took the time to raise me while you were doing something else.
I found you on social media a few years ago. I wasn’t looking for you, but your other kids reached out to connect with me. We all know that you know we are here even if you lack the interest or integrity to acknowledge us. One of us has the nuclear family you probably wanted, one is deeply loved by his leather daddy community, and one built an amazing DINK life, making art and changing communities.
I used to be angry at you. Honestly, though, I either wish you well or hope you never think about any of us again—whatever brings you peace.
A.
I’m glad the third time is the charm and you figured out how to be a husband and father. I just wish you could figure out how to have enough guts to have an adult conversation with me. I just want to let you know that I don’t hold you asking my mom for an abortion against you. I wish she had, too. I really thought you would call after grandpa died and you cried in my arms, but I guess I’ll just see you at the next family tragedy.
Dear Dad,
My entire life I was your baby, your pride. As long as I didn’t rock the boat by asking you
about your life, your childhood, my family. There were certain topics everyone knew not to
bring up. Yet bring them up I did. I remember when you threw me out and called the cops
on me for telling you the truth about your medical condition that you refused to
acknowledge. I remember the last time we talked and you laughed when I told you I had
nearly died a few months before and it was a miracle I am still alive. I remember everything
you ever taught me, everything you ever said and ever pained emotion you never spoke but
was written all over your face.
I know that the last time we spoke was the last time. I check the obituaries ever so often to
see if you passed because I know you probably won’t tell anyone to tell me. I am dead to
you for choosing to love myself the way you taught me never to. You taught me to be small.
To be what others wanted. You taught me to remember I was too much for people and to
settle for anyone who would tolerate me, especially if they had money to take care of me.
You taught me that my trauma made me unlovable. You taught me so many things,
everything but how to love myself. I learned that the hard way, when there was no one left
and I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a man who tried to kill me repeatedly, a man
you told me was good enough. I learned how to love myself and got free. Free from the need
for your approval, of anyone’s. I accept it all. I went through hell and back to find heaven on
earth in the love I have for myself and the world broken as it is, as we all are.
I’m writing this letter to you to tell you all the things I wanted to tell you that you would not
hear because it hurt you too much to think of any of your pain. You cast me out for daring to
grow past your limiting beliefs. You took pleasure in thinking of my death all because I was
a mirror of your trauma and pain which you are unable to witness. I learned to weather the
horrifying storms of my own demons alone and I’m thankful every day STILL that you are my
father.
I want you to know it wasn’t your fault that your dad hurt you.
I want you to know that it wasn’t your fault that your mother didn’t protect you.
I want you to know I’m sorry you went hungry too many nights to name until you got free
and could make your own way to feed yourself.
I want you to know I’m sorry your first wife stopped taking her birth control without telling
you right after you got free and you had two children you weren’t prepared to take care of.
I want you to know I’m sorry my mom cheated on you, betrayed your trust and broke your
heart.
I want you to know I’m sorry the man she chose abused me, forced you away and you
weren’t there to protect your baby. It wasn’t your fault and I don’t blame you.
I want you to know that dancing to Patsy Cline with you and your father, when you briefly
reconciled in my childhood, was one of the most magical nights of my life. I could see you
so clearly in his charm and joy.
I want you to know how brave and proud of you I am to have found the grace and love in
your heart to forgive him, a lifelong alcoholic, even if it your grace and forgiveness didn’t
last. You gave me my grandfather for one night.
I want to thank you for letting me explore the woods, swing from trees, and speak my mind
and learn as a little girl in a time I was expected to play with dolls and be quiet.
I want you to know that I wish you could have learned in this life to forgive yourself for your
mistakes, no matter how big. We all deserve that.
I wish you’d been brave enough to love yourself fully so you could have celebrated me when
I did as well.
I wish you could have broken the hurtful patterns you perpetuated onto me and I thank you
for breaking some of them. I see how hard you worked to be a good dad.
As you near the end of your time on earth I wish you ease as the Alzheimer’s loosens the
grip you’ve always held on your traumas. As you enter a period of daytime nightmares
reliving those painful memories. I don’t wish that on anyone.
I want to say I love you even though you’ve convinced yourself to hate me in these last few
years we had together. I never stopped. I asked you to love me and you couldn’t. I asked you
to respect me and you couldn’t. I stepped away from being in your presence but I never
gave up on you dad. I’ll always love you and I hope in your passing you learn to love
yourself.
Love,
Your Leebie
