To my father
whose confessions of himself
made me feel more like a human
than a victim.

Whom I met for the first time
at the age of nineteen
when after years of not seeing him
come home at night,
he finally decided to stay.....
because he was dying.

I saw it coming.
I waited with anticipation
for the day that came
when he saw what he was doing
to himself
and to us.

And I swore to him that I would not
let him die
and not because it wasnt his time
but because he had promises
he had yet to keep.

I swore to him that I would not
let him die
because as much as he hated me
and cursed me for saving him
I came to realize
that I cared too much
and was as stubborn as he was.

This is to my father
who made me see
that as much as people say
that I'm wierd
or just plain different
too different
I always hold my head up
because it hurts too much
to look down
on myself.

To my father
who taught me
what tough love is really like
and showed me first hand
the consequences to bad choices
because he seemed to
make them all the time.

To my father
who once stood six feet tall
and now passes his lifetime
in a wheelchair
confined to the regrets
of his past.

To you, my dear father
who was never there for me
when I needed you
and who never quite knew
how to say that you loved me
and who called me one day
to help you take a bath
because your strength was gone....
to you....
despite all that
and much more....

To you, my father
I can honestly confess
that I am glad to be your daughter.