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I wonder ?, have pondered ?, have analyzed the boxes, the cages, the walls my little Girl, my young Woman, finds herself packaged in, trapped in, stuck behind, believing that they have come into being – along with all the uncertainties, doubts and fears – because of the constant “ You are to much like you dad ”. If you are me ?, and I you ?, in you mothers eyes, then we can see why all the pain, all the heat ache I inflicted, by my actions, drove your mother to turn all her hurt, her pain into anger, hostility, animosity, malice, vengeance, a vendetta. All her mean spirited words ponding through your youthful days and nights, into your innocence was directed at me, meant for me, – not you – unfortunately, this you had to endure. For you where your mothers only outlet, only release valve and in her naiveté, her blind rage, her need to strike out, she did not know, did not understand, did not pay heed to my words and so the words she was shooting at me, struck at the very heart of you, how could they not kill your spirit, destroy the very soul of one so little, so fragile, when she was often said “ You are so much like your dad ”, a picture she painted black, with angry, harsh brush strokes of a dad that was not the dad you knew and understood. That caused great damage to us and our relationship. In the end – unfortunately – my acts flooded your growth, impacted your life with such negativity and uncertainty. I am sorry that I let your mother leave, taking you with her and for my leaving for distant lands, unknown worlds, leaving you to your own and your mothers devices. Unfortunately my Dear, being your fathers Daughter, “ You are to much like you dad ”, you were forced to endure all the abuse meant for me, – personally – after all, how could you not ?, how could you escape the war ?, especially when you became the battle field upon which your mother waged her destructive war against me. I look into the tapestry of our lives my Dear, and see it tattered and torn, frayed at the edges of its heart, and see, pieces of me being blown apart – as my world ( in your ears, in your eyes ) – crumbles before you, comes tumbling down, scattered around uncertain ground upon which to build your own world, rebuild your spirit, your soul, your personality and climb out of your little coffin and rise up from the broken, shattered remains, the ashes of the man you called dad and walk out of the maze of memories, of experiences, of the tales told, that threw you into the fire, that mess of confusion, the pain of uncertainty, by “ You are so much like your dad ” and know that I think ( it was unintentional, I do believe ) that it was all intended for me and not you my Dear. In the final analysis Gail, one can only conclude that the love your mother and I had and have for you, got lost I the fray – because we did not have the strength of character to overcome – of our destructive needs and desires, the wants of our sicknesses. Our fractured, tortured psyches Gail, drove us, and at your feet, permeating your soul, upon the head of an undeserving little girl, you have come to know – all that you never needed to know. In time – be it already history or yet to be the future – I, - as I am sure your mother - harbour many regrets and I hope that you will find peace and forgiveness within that shattered heart and soul of yours, if not for our sakes, at least for yours, for not letting go, only hurts you and you are the only one that matters, for all time.

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