Cries of The Fatherless

Dear Dad,

I wish I'd met you sooner. I wish I'd known you before I learned to hate men. I wish I'd gotten to know you when I was trusting and ready to love anybody. I wish I'd had the chance to learn from you before I broke my heart searching and searching in vain for someone to be my father. I wish I wasn't afraid of all parental love, waiting to be disappointed.

I don't know how to love you but I do anyway. I couldn't help it, you know.

I don't know what to expect of you. I don't know what you expect of me. Parents are supposed to teach their children what's expected of them. I am my own parent, raising myself. Where does that leave me?

I don't really know what a good parent is. That is why I struggle so hard with being one. And I feel like I'm failing, so miserably.

Have you ever felt my pain? Have you, perhaps, in the agony of your soul, cried out for a mother or father? Have you, in your darkest abyss, felt the weight of the entire world on your shoulders and wished to God that someone would come and take it away? That someone would tell you what you were supposed to do? That someone would hold you in his arms and make everything okay? This is my life.

Yes, Heavenly Father does comfort me and I'm grateful. But I'm also a little jealous. Of your children. Of mine. Of everyone with parents who take on the world, so the kids can be kids. And I wish they would love me too.

I don't really expect anyone to adopt me. (I mean, is it fair to find someone who is all done with raising kids and ask them to take on a new daughter, who is, in all reality, about five years old?) I don't expect it, but I wish they would.

I don't really know if you love me. Because if I let myself believe that you love me, I might find out that you don't and then I would lose my father. Again. I've already lost my parents once. And I couldn't bear it. And so I push you away. But please don't go.

I want so much to be your daughter. Can you teach me how?