My Father I

New York drained me this time around and I was happy to be done with the bad dates. I felt exhausted mentally and physically, which felt more like sadness than tiredness. I decided to take a month off from the Big Apple and let the love affair build again throughout longing and anticipation.

I had barely been home ten days before I was packing again anyway; it had been almost two full years since I had visited my father and he had yet to meet my daughter. I don't like going home, it's not a beautiful place...or even a kind one. I put off going back as much as I can but he's dying and I can stand the discomfort of being there over the regret of not letting him see me and my daughter. I hated him for so many years, which only made it easier to make excuses for my absence. Sometimes you just have to let go and offer silent forgiveness because life doesn't always make sense and sometimes we make the wrong decisions and forget who is affected.

I threw my things in the car and lifted my daughter into her seat...now seems like a good time to start over...