Dad,

I keep feeling your presence in my life. I think about how you really missed me. How I moved to the West Coast, found my very alternative lifestyle and left you in the living hell you created for yourself.

I was listening to some music today and it reminded me of you. One of the lines went something like, "I don't understand why I can't tell 'Free World' from a living hell."

O, Dad, you had everything. You were so good looking. I mean, you looked like a movie star. You came from a prominent family and you went to the best schools. And inside, you really had such a gentle heart. You were very senstive inside.

But something was terribly crippled inside, wasn't it? Was it the time your own father slapped you--hard--across the face? Was it that?

And then, as a young man, you sold yourself out.

Your parents pressured you to marry the right girl, the rich girl. You were in love with Mary. But now I've seen the letter, the two families congratulating themselves for arranging this marriage.

I feel so badly for you.

So in the end, you acted out. You had secret accounts. You found your own amusements and lived a life of secret pain. You loved--but never completely. You were generous but never from the sweat of your own toil. You drove the right car and went to the right country club.

And when you died there was $140,000 in credit card debt.

And you were surrounded by people who didn't feel anything for you.

And now you come and haunt me. I know you are here.

I have moments when I feel as if I abandoned you.

When I was home for the funeral, I lay on your bed, resting before the limos came. And then it struck me. The entire wall was covered with pictures of me. Not of my brother. Not of my mother or your second wife. The entire wall was like a shrine to me.

I ache inside to think of it.

And the way you saved every single letter (not that there were many), every single email from me. And you made notes on our phone conversations (not that there were too many of those either). I have the file now. It's in the attic.

I found it so painful to talk to you. It hurt so badly to be in touch with you so I stayed away.

But why? Why were you so painful to be around?

Well, I guess it was because nothing seemed real. You were forever giving me advice. Stuff that wasn't very useful. Like, "Why don't you become the chief administrator of a hospital?" What was I going to do? Go down to the local private hospital and ask nicely, "Can I be your chief administrator? ... Nooo, I don't have a medical background. No, I've never even worked in a hospital.... No, I'm afraid I can't even tell you what a hospital administrator does. Do I get the job?"

Or the time you pressured me about becoming a airline stewardess. Never mind that I hate flying, but do I look like airline attendent material. Get real.

I didn't want to go to the country club. I didn't want to ballroom dance. I didn't want to go on a cruise or do anything you wanted me to do. And then you seemed to get pissed. And that was it.

So in the end, I had to make a decision to go on with my life. And my life is here, on the West Coast. I know you admired me for it.

O, God, but the pain. I know you really needed me.

It's just in the end, I needed to let you live your life. I couldn't live, just waiting for you to die so I could move on. It would be an insult to you.

Sorry, Dad. I'm sorry that you were so unhappy. I offer you a heart full of best wishes, wherever you may be. May you be at peace. May you know love and truth and generosity. My you learn to trust and may you be treated well.

I love you,

your daughter