Patching Things Up

It had been ten long years with little contact or communication. I have grown physically as well as mentally and emotionally. I developed my own ideas, morals, likes, and dislikes. I held a grudge for something I didn't fully understand. Children don't always see the full picture. I am stubborn.

A series of unfortunate events led me back home. To my roots, my hometown, my father. He was right where I left him. If time had aged him, I couldn't tell. If stress had worn him, I knew how he felt. What I didn't know was the whole story.

Pieces of my childhood faded in and out like waking slowly out of a dream. Nothing fit together and I knew something was missing. I felt it deep within myself, a yearning, a longing, a mystery. I refused to believe that my father was that missing piece. I am stubborn.

On the first day of my return he welcomed me with open arms, an open heart. I took a shower and he cooked me a hot meal. Only after I was back on my feet did we begin to talk. Tears ran down my cheeks as we sat on the front porch. It had been ten long years. We missed a lot but there was still a connection. A connection that only a father and daughter must know exists. My ideas, morals, likes, and dislikes where his own. We missed ten years but we didn't miss a beat. Hearts bound from birth.

I had forgotten what it felt like to be loved by someone who you assume will always love you. And he did. He always had. I cannot change the past; I cannot make up for lost time. There is no regaining my childhood. There is no undoing what's done. If I knew what I knew now, I would do things differently. But wouldn't everyone? Children don't always see the full picture. But I have grown; now I need to repair. I am stubborn.

And when I am through you won't be able to tell that piece was ever missing.