The archive of the forgotten

Dead dad

Dearest dead dad,

I have written this to read at your grave so you and all people who come to love and bestow you with respect will hear this, but truly this is only for you. You are the one who introduced me to Kafka, rather proudly if I may say so, You pushed me to read Kafka, coincedentally I found out that Kafka had written something you had never shown me, and strangely that is the one letter that I understood better than anything he has written. It is a letter not unlike this one, of course it is more masterfully written, but it is also to his father, although still alive.

I felt seen, which was strange because when he wrote it I am quite sure that Franz Kafka himself did not feel seen. The first few lines of the letter state this, my dear father; "Dearest Father, You asked me recently why I claim to be afraid of you. I did not know, as usual, how to answer, partly for the very reason that I am afraid of you"

This fascinated me, because I have never clearly spoken my mind about you, even though I've always been a rather eloquent and opiniated speaker. Partly because when I realised what you have done to me wasn't normal you were long gone. I can't dig you up to tell you what a complete bastard you are. And I promised myself not to use too many swearwords my lovely father.

I wish you were still alive, because this burning question I have will never ever be answered, not even when I dare to ask. But If I wouldn't ask I would feel....unfulfilled? I guess that's the right word. Why? That is the simple question, why haven't I ever been enough? I did so much, I have worked till I was sick of it, I have done everything you've ever asked of me. I am where you wished I would be and still when you died you were not happy. I was still not enough. What did you want from me? I chose everything you wanted. It was as if now that I had completed the goal you were envious. As if you were not the reason I pushed myself until I was a psychiatrist who absolutely despises himself.

And that hatred, you cultivated it. You taught me how to hate myself, you told me what was wrong about me, you taught me I was not worth loving. And why would I be, no one had ever loved me. Mother was long gone and you, you do not understand the concept of love. Love, something I still not understand, but how I long for it. It seems such a beautiful curse, or a beautiful blessing. I am not sure, as I said you've never given it to me. I'd love to get acquainted to it. But how do I know if I really don't deserve it father?

Father, you were a rather......flamboyant man. And I do not mean that in a feminine way, no, I mean it in the way Facism is Flamboyant. The utter distaste of making things bigger and better than they are. Why did you need that father? You were rich, you were powerful, you were smart. Why did you need all that control? You were such a tyrant. And that is precisely why dear Aurelius isn't here with me today. You always made people feel small, come on, you were a grown man. I was twelve, did you feel threatened. How can you hate your two kids so much, all while those two kids loved you with all their heart. It is so strange how loyal I have always been to you father.  You were such a tyrant, a control freak even if we escaped to our boarding school. You needed to grip our necks and slowly suffocate our ability to function like a normal human being. We needed your help, we needed to depend on you because everytime we would do something well, you'd be there to tell everyone why it was your fault. Father, because of you I still feel insignificant.

People always associate their parents with a smell or a taste. For you it's not fresh eggs, toast, tea or pancakes. The taste I remember you by is the metallic taste of violence, of rejection. The smell I remember is whiskey in the morning, vodka in the evening if I remember correctly, or was it the other way around? Well, the only thing I ever remember you consuming with happiness was always alcoholic. And because of that I started drinking but when I did it and I was found hammered in the apartment in paris I was a disgrace to the family and I needed to be sent to the most discreet rehabilitation clinic in England. How much did it cost my dear father? Why did you never use it before? I have never hurt anybody because of alcohol, I was only destroying myself, but you wouldn't recognise it as a scream for help. I needed your help father, not to be sent away again.

That was always your solution, sending us away. The same happened when we were sent to boarding school. We were not perfect enough were we? Did Aurelius tell you? I wonder, I personally think he did. But you wouldn't listen anyway, everything to protect your dear friends right my charming father? That is exactely the reason he switched schools that one time right? I have so many questions for the pathetic excuse for a father you have been. When would your cruelty stop if you hadn't died? Would it have an end?

Father, you only taught me one good thing by being the way you are. To hate the way you were, and precisely because of that I will not lie. I hate you passionately. Even though I harbour a strange love for the the horrible man who has raised me. You were a vile man who doesn't deserve to be as respected and revered as you are. And I realise it is probably much too late but this calms me down.

So to summarise I want to say that you're a disgraceful, vile and disrespectful tyrant. A violent man, somebody who does not deserve the fact that I bring flowers every week. A man that does not deserve my or my brother's tears. You didn't deserve a lot father. And I intend to deserve everything I achieve in my life. I hope you rest in peace.

I will leave this letter on your grave for everybody to see, I promise this one won't be the last. I have coated it with lamination paper, so don't worry, even if it rains people will still know you as the great father you've been to Aurelius and I. I hope that now that you're not busy with your work anymore you have time to think about the way you've loved, I'm sorry wrong word, hated us.

With so much Hate,

Your son, Thaddeus