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I'd read that first letter to the soundtrack of my teeth chattering; even with my coat on, the February night's chill was seeping through my skin. I had to wonder if the privacy of the outdoors was work the cold, if the weight of all my choices had a positive counter-balance somewhere, anywhere, in the cosmos.

Slowly and deliberately, I folded the letters alone their aged creases and returned them to their envelope. I went back inside, up the stairs, returned the envelope to its box as quietly as I could. I couldn't wake Holly up, she couldn't know what I had done. I envied her a little, sleeping there, where nothing could hurt her. A wave of exhaustion washed over me then, and for a moment I longed for nothing more than a brief respite from my thoughts. But I had to fight it, I had to be strong, for Holly; tonight was like a secret hole in time where nothing but myself existed, and I had to utilize this borrowed time. I somehow knew that if I didn't, I wouldn't have the strength in the morning. It had to be now.

I walked over to Holly's bed, bent down to kiss her forehead. "I wish I could say it'll be okay, Holly, but I honestly don't know. Hopefully, I'll have some answers for you tomorrow." She smiled a wistful, sleepy smile, but she didn't wake up. I hovered over her for a moment, so tempted by the curve of her cheek, the way her lips pouted as she dreamed. How easy it would be to -- I backed away, shaking my head. "I don't deserve you, Holly, I'm sorry."

I returned to my own bed, fought the urge to crawl between the warm sheets, reached under the bedframe to retrieve my father's letter. It was the last one he'd written -- not a single one had come in the months since Mom had passed away. I turned on my bedside lamp and sat down to read.

Dear Hannah,

There was no letter for Holly here, but I shook the thought from my head and continued reading:

If Holly knows you're reading my letters, tell her I love her. If she doesn't, then I guess you still haven't reconciled yourself with the fact that you're reading them, and I probably don't have much room to beg favors from you. Either way...

Father Donnivan told me about your Nana. I guess it was just her time, she lived a good, full life, and I'm sure she was ready to leave this world. Still, it pains me that I couldn't have been there for her in her final days ... at least she had you there, which I was glad to hear. I'm proud of you, Hannah. I doubt it's my pride you're looking for in my letters, but still. The girl (sorry, the young woman) who kept her Nana's last few hours, who gave that speech at her funeral (Father Donnivan told me, as best he could remember), that's the daughter I was hoping for in you.

At the very least, I'm sure we can both agree that we're glad you haven't inherited any of my less-than-pleasant qualities. You're strong, proud, kind. A little political, from what I'm told, but that's your Nana in you. You may not have liked her very much, and I suppose I can't blame you for that ... you were just too similar to not butt heads, and I know she tried to push me on you more than either you or me liked ... but she was a strong woman, and you should be proud of the gifts she's given you.

But as much as it may seem like it, I'm not writing you this letter to preach about my mother. She's gone now, and what's done is done. Actually, what I wanted to talk about is your mother.

I stopped reading, then. What right did he have to talk about Mom? And why did it take him five and a half years to finally write it? Why not tell me in his first letter? I wanted to throw this letter in the garbage. Or burn it. I wanted to burn all of his letters. But he was right about one thing; somewhere, deep in my heart, there was a kernel of calm, cold pride, one of my Nana's supposed gifts. I'd made her a promise that I would read these letters, and I wouldn't give that bastard son of hers the satisfaction of knowing I swallowed that pride and gave in to anger. He could say whatever he wanted; I didn't need to believe a word he wrote, I just had to read it:

Believe it or not, I loved your mother. I always have loved her, and I still do. I don't think I'll ever stop loving her. And, once upon a time, I think she loved me, too. But then, you came along, and Holly. Charlotte and I didn't stop loving each other, but we loved our children infinitely more than we loved each other. It's where a lot of our arguments stemmed from.

I'm not trying to deflect blame, here. I know I was an alcoholic, and I know that put a lot of stress on our relationship. But through it all, I was still your father, and she was still your mother, and both of us would have done anything for you girls, if it was in our power. That's where that last fight of ours stemmed from.

Your mother had filed for a divorce. We had never talked about it, she just sprung it on me. Still, after everything that happened, after the way I treated her for so long, I could have accepted it. I deserved it. But she wanted to take you and Holly from me, too. You were my whole life, the only good I had in my life. Without you, I had nothing to live for, and your mother was going to take that from me. It's obvious, now, that I handled it the wrong way; I guess, at the time, it was the only way I knew how. But she just wouldn't listen to me. I knew I could change, I knew I HAD to, and I just couldn't stand to lose you.

I know you don't want to believe any of this. I know you don't want to see it, but I know you know what it's like to love someone that much. I could see it in you, six years ago. You would do anything you could to keep Holly in your life, you would go to Hell and back for her if you had to, because you love her. I know what I did was wrong and unforgivable, and I don't expect you to forgive me, but I need you to understand why I did it. I had to fight for you, I had to fight to keep you in my life, because I love you. You're the world to me. I can't even sleep at night until I see your beautiful faces smiling down at me from a photo on my cell wall.

If there's anything I can ever do to make up the past six ... ten ... years to you, name your price. I don't expect an answer any time soon, and maybe you'll never be able to give me one. But the only thing keeping me alive right now is the hope that one day, you'll give me a chance to fix this, even though I don't deserve it. Just knowing you're reading these letters, it feels like I have a little, tiny piece of you back, and I just ... I don't want to lose you again. I love you, Hannah.

Love,
Dad

Description
I'd read that first letter to the soundtrack of my teeth chattering; even with my coat on, the February night's chill was seeping through my skin. I had to wonder if the privacy of the outdoors was work the cold, if the weight of all my choices had a positive counter-balance somewhere, anywhere, in the cosmos.

Slowly and deliberately, I folded the letters alone their aged creases and returned them to their envelope. I went back inside, up the stairs, returned the envelope to its box as quietly as I could. I couldn't wake Holly up, she couldn't know what I had done. I envied her a little, sleeping there, where nothing could hurt her. A wave of exhaustion washed over me then, and for a moment I longed for nothing more than a brief respite from my thoughts. But I had to fight it, I had to be strong, for Holly; tonight was like a secret hole in time where nothing but myself existed, and I had to utilize this borrowed time. I somehow knew that if I didn't, I wouldn't have the strength in the morning. It had to be now.

I walked over to Holly's bed, bent down to kiss her forehead. "I wish I could say it'll be okay, Holly, but I honestly don't know. Hopefully, I'll have some answers for you tomorrow." She smiled a wistful, sleepy smile, but she didn't wake up. I hovered over her for a moment, so tempted by the curve of her cheek, the way her lips pouted as she dreamed. How easy it would be to -- I backed away, shaking my head. "I don't deserve you, Holly, I'm sorry."

I returned to my own bed, fought the urge to crawl between the warm sheets, reached under the bedframe to retrieve my father's letter. It was the last one he'd written -- not a single one had come in the months since Mom had passed away. I turned on my bedside lamp and sat down to read.

Dear Hannah,

There was no letter for Holly here, but I shook the thought from my head and continued reading:

If Holly knows you're reading my letters, tell her I love her. If she doesn't, then I guess you still haven't reconciled yourself with the fact that you're reading them, and I probably don't have much room to beg favors from you. Either way...

Father Donnivan told me about your Nana. I guess it was just her time, she lived a good, full life, and I'm sure she was ready to leave this world. Still, it pains me that I couldn't have been there for her in her final days ... at least she had you there, which I was glad to hear. I'm proud of you, Hannah. I doubt it's my pride you're looking for in my letters, but still. The girl (sorry, the young woman) who kept her Nana's last few hours, who gave that speech at her funeral (Father Donnivan told me, as best he could remember), that's the daughter I was hoping for in you.

At the very least, I'm sure we can both agree that we're glad you haven't inherited any of my less-than-pleasant qualities. You're strong, proud, kind. A little political, from what I'm told, but that's your Nana in you. You may not have liked her very much, and I suppose I can't blame you for that ... you were just too similar to not butt heads, and I know she tried to push me on you more than either you or me liked ... but she was a strong woman, and you should be proud of the gifts she's given you.

But as much as it may seem like it, I'm not writing you this letter to preach about my mother. She's gone now, and what's done is done. Actually, what I wanted to talk about is your mother.

I stopped reading, then. What right did he have to talk about Mom? And why did it take him five and a half years to finally write it? Why not tell me in his first letter? I wanted to throw this letter in the garbage. Or burn it. I wanted to burn all of his letters. But he was right about one thing; somewhere, deep in my heart, there was a kernel of calm, cold pride, one of my Nana's supposed gifts. I'd made her a promise that I would read these letters, and I wouldn't give that bastard son of hers the satisfaction of knowing I swallowed that pride and gave in to anger. He could say whatever he wanted; I didn't need to believe a word he wrote, I just had to read it:

Believe it or not, I loved your mother. I always have loved her, and I still do. I don't think I'll ever stop loving her. And, once upon a time, I think she loved me, too. But then, you came along, and Holly. Charlotte and I didn't stop loving each other, but we loved our children infinitely more than we loved each other. It's where a lot of our arguments stemmed from.

I'm not trying to deflect blame, here. I know I was an alcoholic, and I know that put a lot of stress on our relationship. But through it all, I was still your father, and she was still your mother, and both of us would have done anything for you girls, if it was in our power. That's where that last fight of ours stemmed from.

Your mother had filed for a divorce. We had never talked about it, she just sprung it on me. Still, after everything that happened, after the way I treated her for so long, I could have accepted it. I deserved it. But she wanted to take you and Holly from me, too. You were my whole life, the only good I had in my life. Without you, I had nothing to live for, and your mother was going to take that from me. It's obvious, now, that I handled it the wrong way; I guess, at the time, it was the only way I knew how. But she just wouldn't listen to me. I knew I could change, I knew I HAD to, and I just couldn't stand to lose you.

I know you don't want to believe any of this. I know you don't want to see it, but I know you know what it's like to love someone that much. I could see it in you, six years ago. You would do anything you could to keep Holly in your life, you would go to Hell and back for her if you had to, because you love her. I know what I did was wrong and unforgivable, and I don't expect you to forgive me, but I need you to understand why I did it. I had to fight for you, I had to fight to keep you in my life, because I love you. You're the world to me. I can't even sleep at night until I see your beautiful faces smiling down at me from a photo on my cell wall.

If there's anything I can ever do to make up the past six ... ten ... years to you, name your price. I don't expect an answer any time soon, and maybe you'll never be able to give me one. But the only thing keeping me alive right now is the hope that one day, you'll give me a chance to fix this, even though I don't deserve it. Just knowing you're reading these letters, it feels like I have a little, tiny piece of you back, and I just ... I don't want to lose you again. I love you, Hannah.

Love,
Dad