Dear Dad,
Do you know Billy’s first words?
I’ve spent so many of the past days being angry at you. For writing us out of your will after telling us for years you wanted to take care of us after you were gone.
For bringing that woman into our lives. You had to know she didn’t care about us when she trashed your eldest daughter on a regular basis. When she told me I couldn’t visit because her family was going to be there. When she put herself and her family in front of your family for twenty years. When she admitted at Northside Hospital in St. Petersburg that she “went after you” five years before Mom died.
For dying.
And I’m tired. Of all of it.
So I want to know if you know Billy’s first words. Because I don’t.
I know Meaghan started out her dialogue with Dada and sish (which translated to fish). She started out saying your name. My words started with Dada and bird. Did Mom spend hours saying your name so we could toddle toward where you might be and call out your name? Was she okay with our prioritizing your name over hers?
Did she lie about what we said first because she thought our calling out for you might have made you want kids? Because we know you didn’t want kids. After Patrosh died, you lost your desire for offspring. Seems fair. Losing a child is fucking rough, Dad. I’m sorry that you never got over it. And for other reasons, I’m sorry I was born a girl so you had to have a third child you didn’t want in order to fill some desire for male offspring.
Do you know Billy’s first words?
Maybe he varied in style and started with Mama. Maybe he noticed I stopped talking about the same time he started and wanted to pick up the slack so he started spouting Shakespeare. Maybe Billy realized words weren’t the way to you earlier than Meaghan and me. Maybe maybe maybe
Maybe you know Billy’s first words? I never asked when you were alive because I couldn’t stand being told you didn’t. That Billy’s first words were not information worth memorizing. That I’m the one who remembers those things and maybe it means I’ve failed because I don’t know.
If anyone else reads this, they will probably see this as cruel and sad and it’ll possibly make them angry, but this is our relationship, Dad. I’ve been honest with you. I’ve told you how I felt when the emotions finally bubbled over and I had to get them out. You asked me a few years ago to tell you whatever was on my mind–the good and the bad–because that’s how we rolled. No one else stood up to you like me.
Do you remember the first time? After you took Billy’s baby blanket because you felt Blankie made him weak? I stood at the top of the stairs and yelled You mean old man, you give my brother back his blanket. He can’t sleep without it. I was four. And you were not Dada anymore.
Do you know Billy’s first words?
Because I don’t. And I really fucking want to because the idea they have been abandoned to the wilderness of lost words kills me.
I feel like the three of us have been erased. So much of what made us is gone. The strata of our life was flung to the wind. And I am not convinced you cared about the consequences. Or that you thought them out. When you rewrote your will, Billy had two kids. Meaghan had cancer. And I took a loan out from you every year to cover my healthcare for the year. We needed you.
You. Who told Billy you decided you didn’t want kids after you lost your first one. You. Who told your best friend you weren’t going to remarry after Mom died, but were just going to live the rest of your life with her. You. Who collapsed on Mom’s body a day before you returned home to her. You. Who who who
Who would know Billy’s first words?
I love you, Dad. This was never about not loving you.