The letters that hurt back and forth

The letters that hurt back and forth

My name is Jane Rhoades, and I don't know why. I don't know why I grabbed my computer, clicked on 'make a new draft', and wrote in his email as the receiver. 

My father left me on my 10th birthday. And today, that meant exactly eight years had passed. Perhaps I just felt like I could never be whole again. Not without any answers. And perhaps I just felt like he owed them to me.

10th december, 1998

Dear Mr. Rhoades,

I'm not sure If you even realize why I write to you on this particular day. I'm not sure if you even remember me. My name is Jane ; Jane Rhoades, if you will. 

There was a time when you did remember. A time where you'd call my name every time you came home from work. I'd run into your arms, and you'd spin me around til I became dizzy. Rocket Man would play on the radio, your favorite song. I'd never payed much attention to the lyrics before, but now, and every day since, it's become clear to me why you enjoyed it so much. 

You felt just like the rocket man, didn't you? So distant you were, all those years. Like you didn't exist on the same planet as the rest of us, like you were rather floating around in space, just like the rocket man. I think it made you bitter. I think you felt like you could have more than my mother, more than my brother, more than me. That's why you left, wasn't it, father? We were never enough.

If you haven't realized it yet, I will tell you;

Space sounds fun at first, adventurous, exciting. But it grows lonely out there. And when you've had your fun, when you eventually return home, you'll see just how much you'll end up the same, regular, flawed person you were before you left. 

That's why I never asked you to come home.

Don't worry, it's okay if you don't write back. 

I don't have any expectations from you anymore. 

Sincerely,

the girl you used to call your daughter.

[I do apologize if in my letters, I come across as slightly bitter, but I am. ]

12th december, 1998

Dear Jane ,

Thank you for reaching out to me, my little girl.

It pains me that's how you think of me. Dad has nothing but love for you and your brother, you must know that. Not a day goes by where I do not miss you.

You think so low of me, goldilocks. I don't want it to be like that. Can you remember how 'Rocket Man' was your favorite song as well? You loved it so much, because we were gonna travel to the stars together. To the stars to visit your mother, if I remember correctly. 

Why don't you come visit me in Italy? I would love to show you around.

Sincerely,

Dad.

[I knew I shouldn't have reached out to him. I knew I should have left my father in the past. I never knew him calling me goldilocks again would break me so much.

And he didn't even mention my birthday. 

The next letter I wrote with a deserving side of red emotions.]

13th december, 1998

Mr. Rhoades.

It seems I didn't make myself clear. I want nothing to do with you. I will not be coming to Italy. In fact, I would rather you join the stars than we watch them together. 

Why?

Because I don't stargaze with strangers.

Sincerely,

Jane Rhoades.

[It was true. My father was nothing more than a stranger. And he was of the type I would never wish to encounter in my life.]

13th december, 1998

My little Goldilocks,

You're angry with me, that's fine. But when you're older, you'll realize it was better for the both of us that our ways were apart. Daddy wasn't very well back then. He needed help. I never wanted to drag my children into that. I thought it was better that I left. Not only for you, but for Anthony and your mother too. For my family. I did it all for you.

I do hope we can put it past us soon. I hope we can start over. How have you been, Goldilocks? Tell me.

-Dad.

[How I have been? Oh, just fine, thank you, dad. I'm just a happy girl who coped with the death of her mother and loss of her father.]

14th december, 1998

Father,

I've been good. Things got easier with the years. I mean, I realized how peaceful my heart was after you couldn't hurt it anymore. 

-Goldilocks.

21st december, 1998

Dear beloved daughter,

I'm glad to hear that. Tell me, do you still listen to Elton? Have you been doing any writing after I left? You always had a way with your words. What about your Christian studies? Are you keeping up with them? 

Do give my love to Pastor Johnny. A good man, that one.

-Dad.

[Ah, right, Pastor Johnny! The abusive pig who left his family for a twenty-year old girl. Good man, indeed.]

24th december, 1998

Dear Dad,

I have been writing, actually. In fact, I recently wrote a piece I think you'd like:

God: The Father

They say you'll come to save us. I ask; who? They say you know who. The Lord, The Savior, The Father; he will come save us. He is the one who made us. He is the one who teaches us right from wrong and good from evil. He is the one who warns us; be aware of the devil. He is our world, the standard of highest order. He is our hero whom we all strive to be. No doubt, he loves us–but then, how come it all still hurts us? If He is perfect, why is there Evil. If He loves all, why suffers the Devil? These questions I asked, again and again, wondering who is really my friend? The answer was clear, clear as day; because in the end, God is only a father. A father that makes promises unkept, a father which on a woman blames his own debt, a father which strives every day to protect; protect his children from the gruesome mayhem effect. But as most fathers he is also blind. Damn all the angels which speaks up from time to time! Banish them to Hell for they went against his wishes! You claim to be generous, yet we're too many which suffers. You claim to forgive, yet you curse women to bear child. God is good, they say. Well then evil must be good. Terror must be beauty. Rain must be sun. And heaven and hell must be all the same. There is no boundaries in his eyes. God is Good. God is Evil. God is a father. God is a Man. And that is where his first fault lies. That is why with him, just as with all fathers; I cut my ties. So considering, some time in the future, I shall eventually stand before his eyes. One of us must ask for forgiveness, and it will not be The Child.

Merry Christmas, dad. 

Sincerely,

your beloved daughter.

[He never wrote to me after that. Actually, my father had never written to me at all. I was just a silly, sad girl with a broad imagination and ordinary writing skills. I was just a girl without anyone that would listen, so I scribbled down my anger and made up my own replies. I was just a girl who liked to imagine what her father would tell her if he cared enough to speak. I was just lonely, and writing became my relief.

In the end, I learned that no matter how much my heart will churn, I should never dig up a person from the past. They're not there to give you answers, they only come back to see you burn.

- Goldilocks.]