Family: chaotic, messy, hard, and much more. All of my life my relationship with my father has been strange. It never felt right. I never belonged with him or his other family. Even with my brother being there with me, it was still awkward. My dad had this whole other life without me. I didn’t even know this person; he was a stranger. When he called me I would cry. I couldn't handle hearing his name being brought up.

 School was hard. There were several father-daughter dances held. Father's day, bringing your dad in to make some little craft for him to brag about. There were several times I cried to the point I couldn't breathe. There were several times I cried to the point I couldn't breathe about things such as missing out on parent and kid things. During these times I pitied myself. I always figured it was simply because I missed him. I’m slowly starting to realize, though, that this wasn’t the case, for I don’t have anything to miss. He wasn’t my dad, no.

 For a little while, I had someone who was a father figure in my life. I was comfortable around this man that was supposed to replace my dad. I felt terrible that I had a better connection with a man that I met not even a year ago rather than a man I’ve known my whole life. Though I felt obligated to try and have a connection with my actual father. I tried, I really did, but it was killing me inside. Talking to him or even seeing him was just another chore that I did not want to do. His moving to California was better for me. I felt that it was easier for me to avoid him. After he moved, he would call every once in a while. Each time I picked up, he would always throw my poor attempts to reach out into the conversation. A wave of guilt would proceed to rush over me after those words would come out of his mouth, with anger following close behind. I wanted to scream, “You left! You left me!" After I summoned up the guts to say it, I would dive into detail. "I’m not talking about when you moved to California, I’m talking about when you and mom split up. You left your daughter all alone, confused and scared. You left her with no one to show her the way.” But I never had the bravery to say what I felt. I would back down because I was his little girl, his princess. Princesses don’t scream and yell. Instead, I would just say “I know, I’m just busy. I’ll try to call you more.” Those promises would never be kept. Soon the phone calls became less frequent. Mostly, we had given up on each other. 

One day I got a call from somewhere in California. I knew it was him. He got a new number every week it seemed so I never put his contact in my phone. I never picked up. My mom was with me when he called. I was tired and didn't feel like dealing with him so I didn't. Later that day, I told myself that I need to focus on myself. I thought to myself, "I don’t care if he gets hurt by me not wanting a relationship with him. I need to work on myself. I can’t be worried about him and his feelings anymore". A few days after I received that call, I found out he died. Still, I'm not quite sure if I regret not picking up his call.