Dearest Father

Daddy,

Tomorrow marks the halfway point in which the Earth has traveled around the sun for one full rotation since the day you left us; in three days' time, it will mark the last time I ever spoke to you, got to make you laugh and shared my woes with you. This Sunday, will be the first Father's Day for the rest of my life in which I will not be able to call you, laugh with you and hear your blessings.

A lot has changed since then; I have acknowledged the fact that my miseries and woes are not just my skewed perception but also a chemical imbalance in the brain. I have admitted, at long last, that I cannot do this on my own and trying to be the 'strong one' for the sake of everyone else does more harm than good. I have come to terms that I love too much. Give too much. Feel too much. And more importantly, I finally understand what it is you meant by 'there are more important things in life than money or making other people happy.'

I am learning to see the world for what it is at long last, beautiful and full of so many possibilities.

I know that you always worried about what sort of security you could leave you children when you finally left this world. Despite the fact that you instilled in us that money wasn't everything, you still wanted to leave us something tangible. You wanted to provide for us -- especially me, the youngest and by so much -- even in death. I remember how you'd lament that you felt you would never see me grow up, go to college, marry and have children. Three out of four is not bad, Papi. You not only saw me blossom into the woman I am today, graduate college, find a man who loved me for me and set out into the world on my own. It is because of you that I have managed to make it as far as I have so far -- and the reason I shall continue to go onto bigger and better things.

When I was fifteen and stuck in my grey and black wardrobe accented in mesh and lace, you supported me. When I decided to wear dog-collars from Petco because mom kept throwing mine away, you told her to let me be. When I cut my hair and later tried to dye it blue (and failed) you turned a blind-eye to it although you preferred to see me with my hair long and dark *(you later explained that it was my body and if I wanted to look ridiculous I could. It wasn't going to affect you any.) You bought me books others thought were a waste of time, went out of your way to find out who my favorite authors were and brought me their releases whenever a new one came out. And while you may not have been able to attend a single play I ever acted in, you always told me you were proud of me.

So its okay that you had no financial legacy to give me. You gave me a far bigger treasure than anyone could ever give me; from you, I have my work ethic, my honesty, my stubbornness and independence. You have taught me the difference between right and wrong. It is because of our long conversations on religion, theology, philosophy and politics that I am the person I am today; I judge no one for it is neither my place nor am I completely innocent. And while I may have been angry at you at some point in my life because I could not understand why you were gone for so long on the road to put food on the table, I get it now. I am glad the anger was short lived and I moved past it as quickly as I did.

Believe it or not, Daddy, you have given me a wonderful and amazing legacy. You gave me life -- not once, but twice. The day you passed I was planning my own death. I swear I heard your voice call out to me and I broke down crying for what felt like the hundredth time that day... and then I went numb when I finally turned on my phone, heard sister's voicemail to call her back. I couldn't feel a thing for days until after the funeral.

Whoever said that grief is like the ocean, deep and full of tides was not kidding. Some days I feel like I am drowning and can barely keep my head above water. Other days, I am floating on the surface of my sorrow. Regardless, however, my life has been forever altered. I hug my husband longer when we do. I hold on tighter to my friends when we embrace and more important of all, I no longer keep my feelings to myself.

I care not about money or the property that could have been, Papito. Your legacy is one of wisdom and courage-- one I wrap myself with on the cold nights where I feel alone in the darkness.

While you may have not been able to meet my children, if I ever have them, they will know of you. They will meet you through my actions and my life. And I, will honor your memory by fighting the darkness that clouds my brain.

I will always love you.

Your daughter,

Illie

PS: I will forever treasure Hija de la fortuna, Papi. I never knew you had bought yourself a copy and read it so often the pages are dog-marked and brittle. No wonder you could follow my ramblings about the story so well... you read the book because I was passionate about it. You may have not said 'I love you' to me with words, but you have done so with innumerable actions.