Wasn't Expecting You

Daddy's little girl

Today has been 8 years since my dad died.

When I was 12, on the first anniversary of his death, I didn't handle it very well. I was still living with my mother, so she was no help. I'm not sure she even knew it was the anniversary as she was too high to tell the difference between day and night, Monday and Tuesday, let alone what date it was that day, or even what the date was that he died.

I remember being in English class that day. Our teacher was teaching us about rights of passages and how we might share them with the people we love. She mentioned graduation, getting into college and getting married. When she spoke about getting married, some boy's that liked to bully me teased me about how my dad would never get to walk me down the aisle, because he is dead.

I didn't yell, I didn't have a come back, I remember I just blinked at him as I felt the tears pool in my eyes as the realisation of what he said sunk in. He was right after all, but it didn't make it any easier. I heard Ali tell him to shut up and not be so mean, and then I ran away. I ran straight out of the classroom before the teacher could stop me and I kept on running across the school grounds.

I ended up on the far side of the school yard, where the basketball courts were. I knew if I sat off to the side, any other students or teachers that walked past wouldn't be able to see me. Being at the courts made me feel closer to my dad too.

Later that day, I was found by a teacher. They made me go to the student councillor office. They didn't really know how to help, I probably needed a real therapist, but there was no way my mom was going to get me the help I needed. The student councillor suggested I write a letter to my dad, tell him about the year that he missed.

So, I did. And I have done it every year since.

When I was 12, I wrote about how hard the year had been without him. The bully's, mom getting worse, how Ali was the best friend I could ever have. How much I missed him.

When I was 13, I wrote about how much life had changed that year. I was now in foster care, I started my period and Helen told me it meant I was becoming a woman. I felt like I had siblings for the first time in my life and I still enjoyed playing basketball, to be closer to him.

When I was 14, I wrote about how I still lived with Helen and Craig. I had my first kiss with Matthew Rudd down the back of the basketball courts, but I wasn't playing basketball anymore. Ali was still my closest friend.

When I was 15, I told him about my first high school party. I was still in foster care, but mom had contacted me now and said she was getting better and maybe soon I could live with her again.

When I was 16, I told him how I lived with mom again and for a little while she was better, but now she isn't anymore. But I'm a big girl and I help look after the house and mom. I tell him how I got a job to start saving for college.

When I was 17, I told him about how I was starting to look at college's and decide what I want to study. I learnt to drive and bought my first car. I told him how I still spoke to Helen and Craig and spent a lot of time with Ali, because mom wasn't ok. But I was ok, because I'm strong and I will be strong for him.

When I was 18, I told him how I got into college, I was moving states later that year. I told him about my first relationship, but that I wasn't in love or anything. I told him that I would do everything I could to make him proud.

Now I'm 19. I've pulled the diary out of my desk draw and found my dads old hoodie that I only wore on this day from the bottom of my closet. Usually I spent this day alone. Dad was cremated, because it was cheaper for mom. He didn't have a headstone, we couldn't afford it. So I would spend this day at the blacktops near home where dad taught me how to play basketball.