Forgotten

10 02 2010

I called you today, because I thought it would comfort me to hear your voice. But I heard the her in the background trying to remind you of who I am.

“It’s your youngest daughter…Amy” she whispered.

“It’s me! Please don’t forget me Dad!” but I held on to the words tightly so as not to frighten you, choosing to mention the weather in a wobbly voice instead. I had to hang up quickly before it started.

Those words combined with memories of meaningless arguments, distances that really aren’t that far, and forgotten Father’s Day cards, help to form the large, thick lump in my throat that won’t seem to go away.

Why so many tears when I never felt like I was really that close to you?

I’m sorry Dad.

What is this small part inside of me that makes me think that I’m too special to be forgotten?

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Again, I apologize being so depressing. Like I said before, I find writing is very therapeutic and uplifting (not to mention much cheaper than the therapist I’ve been to who charges $100/hour). I can’t express enough to everyone just how horrible this disease is. I also can’t tell you enough how important it is to let people know how you feel before it’s too late. We never listen to that, do we? Why does it seem we treat our family members worse than strangers sometimes?

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2 responses

16 02 2010
Ann (21:02:09) :

You’ve really touched me. You’re real, and that is not something you get very often. Keep writing. Keep getting to know who you are.

And, welcome to SITS!

I’m hosting a little giveaway..Hint, there is chocolate involved.

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20 02 2010
Lisa Dooley (20:03:20) :

Hi Amy! I didn’t realize what a “gift for gab” you have. Actually, it’s more than that. Was very touched by your accounts with your dad and would like to send these words of encouragement to continue with your writing. You are touching more lives than you know!

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