One Million Tiny Things

Rising is a deep fall

Dear Julian,
Last night was...how do I put this.. crazy?

A week ago when Julia suggested inviting your mother back for a "dinner", I don't know why I agreed. It has long since weighed on my heart that the two of you grew up without her. Instead of a responsible maternal figure, the parental lottery doled you out me. A workaholic, depressed dad that tried his best to distance himself.

I guess I thought that having her here again would help you. In some inconcievable, generalised way, I thought Doria would know how to talk to the two of you, help you, guide you. In ways I never did.

I'm sorry Ian.

I never really took the chance to wait for you, to watch you grow, to teach you, to help you. Same with Jules. 

I know I should have. 

I know I could have.

Wounds like that can't be solved with words. We probably have next to nothing to say to each other and when we finally find the words, I can't predict what yours will be. It's cowardly and impossibly foolish of me to say it this way but I hope that, for now, you'll listen to me through a letter.

Your mother and I, we grew up together. She was rich, well brought up, cultured, and for the longest time I hated her. Our parents had decided that we were to end up together from the minute we'd both touched our cradles. It didn't matter what I thought. Or what she thought.

And I was too afraid to protest. My family was built on fear and obedience. We knew when to speak, when to act and when to back off.  There was no contest, no choice and I blamed her for that. And, likewise, she blamed me. Then, well, you've heard the rest. About 10 whole years into our faux of a marriage,  met some surfer dude 6 years younger than her with practically 6 ft of hair and made headline news. Flashforward a month, and lo and behold, they'd left.

It took her leaving for me to realise that I had actually come to terms with being married to her. I'd embraced what I'd deemed impossible; a family of my own. One I loved and who loved me in return.

But when she left, it all came crashing down. Hard. 

The brutality of it all. The media, the lawsuits, the news. For the first time, I realised the danger this world had to offer and the unfairness you faced when you didn't hold the cards.

So, I did what I had to; I played the game, I called the shots, I became someone to be reckoned with. Not my father's son, not just an entrepreneur, not the guy with the broken family. 

But someone with international respect.

And that's what I tell myself, that I left, grew distant and distracted, stuffed you in boarding schools; to do my job better.

But we both know that I'd probably be lying.

Sure, it's a cutthroat world out there, but I would have survived just the same with you guys as I did without. Possibly even better.

Your mother got to run. So, I wanted to run too. I didn't want all the responsibility of being a parent, I didn't want to have to sacrifice for someone else, to work for someone else. Even my own flesh and blood. It's selfish and disgusting of a parent to think like that. And it's indescribably worse for someone to behave in that manner.

But I did, and the cost was payed by the two of you.

And I can try to apologize, to fix things, but bridges that burn down sometimes leave too much ash to rebuild over again.

Julia would step in front of a moving train faster than she'll accept my apology and you, well, I can't blame you for picking her side. She was there for you when I wasn't. She loved you when I didn't care. She put down all her defences for you, while I built my walls high enough to hide you from my view.

It's cold-hearted and venomous. Nowhere, in the world, not even amongst animals, would you find a father like me.

For the longest time, I hated my father. As a child, he was more of a demon than a dad. And that image solidified in my mind and I never really let go the ideals I had of him. 

I swore that I'd never be him.

But what I became was so much worse. I despised my father for knowing my every move, judging each step, punishing each mistep, the constant fear and simultaneous want for approval.
Yet, he noticed me. He knew me. 

I can't say the same for me.
I never noticed you or your sister. Your struggles, your problems, your victories and failures. I didn't care.

My father may have been vile. But he was better than me. Because in his own twisted ideas of love, he tried to make me a better person.

But me, I never even saw you.

I know that now, your older, too old to listen to me for advice. But that doesn't mean I don't have any to give.

You and Christine are good buisness partners, dangerous friends and unbelievably loyal. But I'm still not entirely certain about your marriage.

When you introduced her, I was proud of her status and reputation. You put on a good show of loving her and I was too greedy to enterwine her family with ours. 

But now, the more I see about you two, the more it all becomes clearer.

You two aren't in love, the two of you couldn't care less about each other except for the cash flow that would pause in the case of either one's demise.

You've got your side relationships, she's got hers. 

You do your thing, she does hers.

You work independently for me, she does the same for her family.

But you trust her as a friend and she's loyal to you as an ally;

You two have practically built a marriage on the preface that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

The old me would have applauded you, cheered you on, said that the Girbys just weren't suited for love and a marriage of this sort was beneficial and practical.

But, in these past few hours, I've realised something.

Love is a silly, impractical, flimsy object but it's not one you can live without.

One that falls, breaks, shatters and reforms in a matter of seconds. And it takes falling in love to realise just how high you can rise.

You know it's love when you come for Cinderella and end up falling in love with the pumpkin carriage.

Matches made in hell kind of work out like that, don't they?

Nothing's ever perfect there.

You give up bouquets for brawls and competition for cuddles. Your polar opposites yet think the same. You've got buckets of problems and you could just shut them up but you'd rather mess them up more.

It's generally believed that when people my age fall in love, we fall hard. It's not uncommen to see older men make fools out of themselves for younger girls. But if Rochester had never found his Jane, he'd never have experienced happiness as he did.

So, finally, I come to the purpose of this letter. 

I'm leaving. Giovva woke up two hours ago. We've talked, cried, yelled, argued and come to a decision.

Giovva and I, we're running. To places we've never been to for things we never believed possible.

It's high time that you took over. You've been trolling around with no official position for years now. Running everything with no credit. Standing behind the scenes when it was you who put everything into action. 

The papers are signed, the stocks are divided, the money is shared.

And all that's really left to say is

Goodbye Ian,
Kyle.