I've heard of your irritable presence making itself known among the family. My brother especially. You still posses the ability to push his buttons and break his heart. But he won't ever tell you that. It's a shame we couldn't find some common, healthy ground - you and I. It's a shame I couldn't feel more than indifference after years of crying. It's a shame my brother wants nothing more than for you to be there, and you don't - for whatever reason. Especially, when you should know that ache, that nauseating vacuum of gutteral pain at feeling forgotten - as I have done to you. In layman's terms, you should know what it feels like to be rejected and left out of someone's life you love. Yet, you do it... often. There is something deeply wounded within you. For that, I can feel empathy and compassion. But other than that, I feel free. Free from dark dust you stir up after a few beers.
Let me tell you this: You will die alone. I pray to God, that I have healed enough, and transcended a rocky childhood existence enough to bring my own children up in a beautiful and loving way. You do not posses the ability to see any of your own faults. It's a fact. Your tendency to place blame, exert control, and manipulate cost you your children. Your children. Those very relationships you yearned so deeply for, have long sipped through your fingers. It has officially been over half my life since we shared a common bond - half my life. My brother and I have our own families now and you missed that. Why didn't I invite you to my wedding, you ask? You didn't travel one state to my brother's wedding, I surely didn't think you'd travel four for mine. Not to mention, we hadn't spoken a single word in five years. He wanted you there; you could have shown up for him.
For karma's sake, for our soul's sake, I hope you have found forgiveness for yourself, for me, for my brother, and for your own father. I hope peace fills your heart, where ache and emptiness once lived. It truly is a shame we couldn't get it together.
