Dear Dad

I haven't done this in a while. Not because I don't have things to say but because I haven't known how to say them. Haven't wanted to say them.

I get these moments of chest-clenching sadness. It's almost like I can't breathe and then feel like I need to sob. They don't happen frequently but when they do, I have a lingering sense of awfulness.

I also have these absurd reactions when I see a character death on television. Even if I'm not at all invested in the character, I'm reduced to tears. I remember, right after you died, it was like every show that had a remotely medical tangent featured a patient dying of cancer and (spectacularly) in one case, liver cancer specifically. I kind of felt like, by watching them, I could maybe thicken my skin. Turns out that doesn't work.

You've been on my mind in a lot of ways.

Our family is a disaster and I'm not sure what to do about it.

Papa and Mark have a new place and it's really nice. I think you'd be impressed. Papa looks better than he has in quite some time and Mark... well, Mark is coping. Things are still bad between him and the kids. Apparently Jane's incommunicado also. It's so convoluted down there that I can't really keep it all straight. M and I went down for a visit but stayed at the farm. We didn't call Michelle, or Greg, or Becky. I'm not sure if that was the right thing to do or not. We managed to relax some while we were there, so I guess it wasn't a terrible call.

Andrea is back to her same old. We touch base every once in a while. She had some sort of audition for Animal Planet a couple weeks ago. She and I are okay. It's like a return to the status quo. Of course, our status quo wasn't ever the warm and fuzzy sibling relationship you see on TV but it's okay. We're okay. As okay as ever.

Mom got a new job and may finally be selling the house. I don't talk to her about the house because, really, on some level I'm still angry that she reneged on her promises to you. I'm still angry that I had to have those awful conversations with the both of you while you were sick, and then she disregarded all the decisions the two of you made. I'm angry. I'll live.

She and I haven't ever been as close as you and I were, which I know is hard on her. It's different now, though. Stilted and awkward. I'm not sure if that's us or it's us and her boyfriend. I handled that badly. Not much to be done for it.

M says he's noticed that Maggie and Lori are more quiet and reserved around me. It's hard to tell if it's because of my scene last New Year's or because Mom has complained about me. Probably I should care more about it but, oddly, I don't. I keep thinking, 'those people aren't my family.' They weren't what I expected from family. Probably I should let it go. Maybe I'll figure out how.

I told M, over dinner the other night, how I've been feeling about this. I'm sad that Mom and I aren't closer. I'm disappointed that your death has splintered us all into our own pieces. I don't know if I can find what it would take to bring us back. You were a hell of a uniting force.

It's mostly that I feel guilty. I feel guilty that I'm not being strong for them, like you asked. I feel guilty that I'm not working harder to fix it. I feel guilty that I'm not better.

M says you were more pragmatic than that, that maybe I shouldn't take you so literally. After all, your family has its own particular chaos. That may be true.

Maybe you asked me for other things during those months. Probably. But the only two I can remember involved Jesus Christ as my personal savior and being strong for Mom and Andrea. I couldn't do either and I feel like I'm failing you. It's not logical, I know that, but it doesn't make the feeling go away. And hell, compared to the second thing, the first thing was cake. Not really a choice, anyhow.

I'm content with what I believe and what I don't. I feel bad that you died concerned about my future wellbeing and convinced you wouldn't see me in heaven. I know you well enough that you don't begrudge me my convictions but I've always felt bad that you were worried. I just couldn't lie to make you feel better. Maybe that makes me a bad person.

I'm not convinced I've got it in me to fix things, Dad, and that worries me. I wish you were here to help me sort it through. I wish you were here.

I'll call Mom tomorrow.

I love you, Dad. I miss you.

Sarah