Preface:
There are two main reasons I'm not going to tell certain things to my father.
The first is that the distance between us was too painful to cross, to get into each other's hearts and tell him the things I wished I could say, hoping he would understand or at least listen. I stockpiled my words like stones, waiting for the ground to settle. I had a whole quarry of them: confessions, questions, apologies, truths. Heavy, sharp-edged things. I always believed there would be other time and alternative space to say them, until there wasn't.
This brings me to the second reason I cannot tell certain things to my father.
It's pretty simple, actually.
He's dead. [to be continued...]
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