Love can come in so many shapes and forms. His came through sacrifices. He traded a life on land for one at sea, so he could give us a life comfortable enough for me not to doubt that he cared.

But Papa is a different person when he’s home. When he’s angry, I see this monster in him. The longing became wanting him to go back to the sea. He never hurt me physically, but his words were sharp enough to leave wounds that took years to heal.

Resentment grew within me. Home felt like a prison whenever he came back from abroad.

I waited for the moment that he’d say ‘I’m sorry’.

I waited…

I waited…

It felt like I spent years in the waiting room. I spent a long time carrying that empty space where an apology should have been. But I realized that some apologies will never arrive in the mail, no matter how much you wait. 

Now I know that forgiveness asked something different of me. It asked me to look beyond my pain and see him for what he was. When I look beyond that, I see not only a father but a flawed man carrying burdens I never understood as a child.

But what I felt as a child was valid. I can love the man who provided me with everything and still resent him for what he did. 

But I’m no longer that angry, sixteen-year-old daughter. I’ve grown. And I’ve realized that I, too, am flawed. 

How could I hate my father for being imperfect when I am learning, every day, that perfection in this life is impossible…

I’m now 22. At this age, life has shown me how fear can become anger, how pressure can become silence, how our traumas can change us, and how people sometimes hurt the people they love simply because they do not know another way.

And somewhere along the way, I found healing in remembering that this is his first life, too.

You were learning as you went, just as I am now.

And perhaps…

Perhaps that is finally what softened my anger.