The first letter to my Father
I writhe to you because I never will speak to you again. Even thou we didn’t spoke to each other for the last years had my silent dialog with you in my mind kept going.
After all you still lived at the same place not far from here. All my Way? And How could you even think about it? Questionings that hunted me up from my bed in the middle of the night wanted to confront you! I did know that I asked for the impossible ting so I refused my instinct and forced myself back into bed for another sleepless night.You never would answer that kind of question except whit a lie and I am finish with your lies.I had to hear every vision over and over again until they made me feeling sick!
To go on listening would have made you too important in my live. After all: I gave you twenty years of my life. Of our lives: me and my children’s.
Every single day I hoped the time had come for an excuse or at least a god explanation.
But this would never happen as you was not even aware of what your actually had done. A paedophile always believes that children respond to his sexuality.
You spoke sometime about how sorry you was and what sadly your life was wasted .Then you thought about your years in prison and at closed mental hospitals’.
My questions was never answered and I stopped hope for an answer long before we stopped see each others.
Today in the chapel your coffin looked so small. How could you be inside it? I remember you as a tall big man. I do think you really was a big man even in the eyes of others? I am aware of the impossibility to look at someone close objective? Your widow passed me on her way out of the chapel without giving me a look. Why should she?
She is free now and I am the last person in whose arms she should cry. After the long years of forced family live whit us she hates me with a strong feeling .I could never feel so much for her as hate takes. I was your only child who refused to obey her directive: No contact at all. I should like to know what she plan for your body? I understand clearly that the family grave up in the north is impossible for you. Maybe she would have you cremated? A clever move if she want to make it impossible for us children to visit your grave.But I dont think this is a big risk?
The priest had seen me in the back of the chapel and came towards me too comfort me in my presumed mourning. Then suddenly my Dear One stands by my side.
Law but very clearly he said: I do hope this old devil will burn in hell! Forgive him the bitter words, father!
He had followed me on my way since I was left alone.
Before the priest had time finding a suitable reply the Dear Onehad got me out of the chapel.
It was over.
I’m sitting in my garden and its just one of them miracles’ summer evening we only have in Scandinavia.As I wrights I wonder what kind of death you got ? Did you just fell asleep like after a long days work? Or was it a painful disgusted death? I don’t know and I never will. From now one I save my pity for your victims.Like my little sister!
My sister!She has to be told that you past away.Tomorrow I must get in touch with her .When I met her as a teenage I remember she wanted so badly pee on your grave: Its relay a modest payback for six years in terror.
I’m just sitting here thinking about how strange it feels that you not exist anymore.
My lonely dialogs whit you in the sleepless night are finally over now father. I will try to go to bed and get a little sleep but first I must talk to the children who waits inside for me. They look pale and worried over me and I must tell them don’t.I’m a big girl now pa!
Goodnight and sleep well.
Always your Daughter