Dear Father,

I'm writing from a treatment centre for drug addicts and alcoholics,
a place where you should have been. Your alcoholism took you down
a dreadful road of selfishness, causing you to think only of yourself.
Many times you deprived your family of the bare necessities of life.
You provided only minimal food, shelter and clothing. Outside of these,
there is nothing you provided. You never took us to church, never
shared in our schooling. The word “love” was not in your selfis
heart. What a poor example of a father you were!

And so many beatings! You didn't use the flat of your hand but a fist,
a belt, or even a hose with a brass nozzle on it. I can still remember
when I was a small child that Grandma called the police on you.
Yet all they did was take the hose away.

I always thought that the tragedy of my childhood was my own fault since
you told me so often that I had murdered your wife. But I never stopped
loving you every day of your life. I always thought that what I felt for you
was love, but really it was fear and guilt.
You dropped dead in the hotel in your 66th year.

In this treatment centre I have learned to grieve for the first time in my life.
I am now free of any animosity that I ever held against you. Even though
I never felt hate for you, I did have some past resentments that are now gone.

It is my prayer that we meet in heaven someday, but only God knows for sure.

I can close by saying, “Good-bye, Dear Father, I love you.”

Your son.