I myself have never succumebed to the bottle. I have too much going good in my life to worry about drinking. I don’t put anyone down for having a drink it is my personal preference in part do to my father. thank you.
Tracey
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Journal, Diary, & Blogging / Dear Father (Analysis)
Dear Father,
How come we don’t talk? How come you don’t answer me? Do you even hear me? Have you ever heard a word I said? Do you remember me? Who do I look like? What is my favorite color?
Oh father, why aren’t you answering me? I feel a soft warm hand in mine. I feel tears coursing down my rosy cheeks. I look up and see my mother.
Her response shakes me to the very core. “honey he can’t answer you. He’s dead.”
I wake up and shake the cobwebs from my head. I realize I had placed those questions on a sheet of tear stained paper and placed it into my fathers casket.
For 34 years I have asked these questions of my father and never receieved an answer.
Now that the bottle has taken his life and he will remain forever in drunken slumber, my questions remain unanswered.
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I am unable to review due to a bereavement. In time I will.
Respectfully,
Pfeiffer.
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Children have a hard time receiving acceptance at the best of times from their parents. But when a parent is disabled by a disease that robs them of any parenting skills it makes it that much harder. I felt your anguish at knowing that those answers will never come. Best to bury them with the man and seek acceptance elsewhere. As a blog this is emotional and reaching. If you ever decide to go further with this more development will need to be made.
I give you a ten because it is sometimes very hard to go public with problems of drinking in the family ..
I usually read lyrics and poetry on this site.. this is sad article
hope things get to looking brighter
lookingbeyond
- “honey” -> Honey
- the flow’s a bit bumpy, like in the last sentence, and it sometimes feels wordy.
It’s short, touching, realistic, and real, to name just a few adjectives. I felt like there was a question overload in the first paragraph, but I understand that this person is more speaking to themselves than the readers. If it’s non-fiction it doesn’t really make that much sense, because you said after 34 years and your age (at least on urbis) says 36, which would make you two and unable to think of those questions, or at least unable to write them down. So I assume it’s at least partially fiction. The emotions of the character were expressed and portrayed very well through showing.
On the whole it was a tidy piece that’s very human.
Mika
Reads as a sincere cry from the heart.The father-daughter relatioship is tenuous at best.This has clear question of the soul content.
I think you very brave for writing this, especially if its true. People always want answers from the deceased, and never recieve an answer, and from such a young age as you have portrayed it can be exceptionally hard to let go. This is very easy to be empathetic with, because I think that everyone who’s had a loved one pass, has put something in the casket, whether it be a note, or something special to them. As for publishing? I’m not sure which criteria you’d want this under…
This piece seems to lack a sense of perspective. Time, distance. Standing at an open casket or remembering the loss later? The questions are for an absentee father, not a dead one. ”Shake the cobwebs” – cliche, confusing. ”had placed” and “place[d] it into” – was this present tense on purpose?
This is simply heartbreaking when you really think about it. It opens up a LOT of questions though. Hold old is the speaker/narrator, how did the father die, when did he die, why did he die? There is a lot of room for exploration here. This could be developed any number of ways…
“Who do I look lie?” (like)?
“I realize I…paper and place it…” (placed)?
“Who do I look lie?” like
“tear stained paper”: tear-stained is a compound word- use dash to join them.
“and place it into my fathers casket”: placed
Very short! But very understandable.
A few questions that arise and aren’t answered:
How old were you when he died? And when you awoke from the dream?
How old was he? How or why did he die?
After the first paragraph it seemed like a letter to God. Then your mum shows up, and I realise it’s about your own Dad. But, why doesn’t he know what you look like, or your favourite colour?
Very emotional piece! Well done!
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