Of Heather and Thistle

Chapter 4

My therapist, Candace Alpin, has been instrumental in my healing journey, so I felt it wise to meet with her before heading back to work the next day. I'm so grateful I found Candace a year ago when I made the difficult decision to cut contact with my dad. Going no contact wasn't easy, but it was necessary for my wellbeing. After spending over a decade tiptoeing around my father's anger issues and abuse, I was finally ready to take back control. With Candace's support, I transformed the fear and hurt into motivation to build the life I deserved. She helped me rewrite the narrative and realize I was so much more than my father's conditioning. I'm forever grateful for Candace's guidance through this transformative journey.

"Letting go of the past can be so freeing," Candace chimed, her eyes lighting up. "Selling your dad's house could be the perfect fresh start - a chance to leave behind painful memories and make room for new joy."

She leaned forward, speaking gently. "The process may stir up complex emotions, but I believe the act of moving forward will feel cathartic. This is an opportunity to honor your past while also stepping into your own future."

Her smile was kind. "It won't be easy, but you have the strength to do this. And I'll be right here to support you each step of the way."

"Candace, you're a gem," I beamed. I felt lighter than I have in days. "I don't know what I'd do without you. Now if I could just work up the nerve to open this letter that's been burning a hole in my purse for the past two days," I picked up my bag and set it in my lap. "I just can't bring myself to read it... what if it's an apology?" Once, that might have eased the ache in my heart. But now, with him gone, I'm afraid it'll only stir up complicated feelings I thought I'd made peace with. Maybe some things were better left unsaid; the past would be allowed to fade.

"I'm here for you," Candace said gently, reaching out to take my hand. "I know this letter is going to stir up some complicated emotions for you. Please know that you don't have to go through this alone. If reading it aloud would help, I'd be honored to listen and support you in any way I can." Her eyes radiated compassion. "We're in this together. Whenever you're ready, I'm ready."

I mulled over the moment. Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity after all. Though a part of me yearned for Ivy's presence, her penchant for downplaying things often left me unsatisfied. This was not something I could brush aside so easily. No, this called for an unfiltered confrontation with the truth, no matter how difficult it may be. Ivy's soothing words, though well-intentioned, would only dilute what needed to be said. "Ok. I'm ready."

I held the envelope in my hands, turning it over slowly. Heather was written across the front in Dad's familiar scrawl. I traced my name with a finger, delaying the inevitable. With trembling hands, I accepted the letter opener Candice held out to me. My heart pounded as I slid the thin blade beneath the envelope's flap, knowing that the contents would likely be hard to bear. Though my fingers fumbled, I managed to tear it open, bracing myself for whatever lay within. The shaking wouldn't stop, adrenaline coursing through my veins, as I unfolded the letter that I feared to read. This was it - the moment of truth. I took a deep, shaky breath, and began to read.

Dear Heather,

I've struggled for days trying to find the right words, crossing out lines and starting over more times than I can count. Please know this is the hardest letter I've ever had to write. But you deserve to hear the truth from me. I'm dying. The years of drinking and carelessness have finally caught up with this old fool; I have stage four liver cancer. I've decided to forego treatment. In truth, I've been dying ever since your mom passed away; slow and agonizing. I think it's time I bowed out.

When your mom died, I struggled just to get through each day. When I picked up the bottle, I'm ashamed to say that it helped me numb the emptiness I felt inside. The fear. The never ending pain of losing the love of my life. I know that what I felt is no excuse. You needed me, and I was not there. Not in the way a father should be. I let the grief swallow me whole instead of rising above it for your sake. My behavior has been disgraceful - my abuse, lashing out, wallowing in self-pity. I know that I have failed you as a father time and again. The guilt eats away at me. I wish I could go back and be the supportive, loving parent you deserved.