To Borrow from Your Hero Sinatra: “Regrets, I have a few…” By Kristine Meldrum Denholm

Dear Dad,
You weren’t supposed to die. It wasn’t your time. It couldn’t have been. You were 58… and played racquetball almost every day. You were a happy, healthy person. Everyone–Mom, my brothers and me, and your friends–thought of you as their “best friend.” I can still see you toasting us at the Pope’s Table at Bucca. You went to all those Cavs, Indians and Browns games. You still had so much life in you, ahead of you.


Melanoma caught us all by surprise. That day I called to see how the doctor’s appointment went, Mom blurted out you had a brain tumor. I couldn’t stop crying for days. I don’t know how I took care of my toddlers, but I‘m sure it involved snacks (like you taught me). The next thing we knew, there was the surgery to find out about this brain tumor. The neurosurgeon told us in the waiting room it had metastasized from somewhere else. Several weeks later, we got the news: melanoma. (more…)
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Happy Father’s Day, Daddy – by Ryanick Paige

You weren’t my father, at least not in the biological sense of the word. You took on the role and carried it out with finesse and pride. We do share the same DNA with a slight generational gap. You are my grandfather, but in my mind and in my heart you were so much more than that.

You were the one who went to work every day to make sure I had food in my belly and clothes on my back. You were the one who took pride when I got good grades or showed disappointment when I had done badly. You were the one that stood by me through thick and thin. You were the one that was there when I needed you both financially and emotionally. You took on the role as my father with pride, but you were even so much more than that.

You were my daddy in my heart and in my soul. You were the one that galloped around the hall with me on your shoulders singing Hi Ho Silver Away as grandma prayed we would remember to duck in the doorways. You were the one who took me to skating lessons. You were the one that took me to school functions. You were the one who made sure we never missed a county fair or steam engine show. You were the one who shared your buckwheat pancakes with me as a small girl.

You have been gone for four years now and I don’t think you will ever know how much I loved you then and love you still. I miss you every day, but on Father’s Day I miss you even more. I miss the sound of your voice and the joy in your laugh. I miss the way you played with my kids, your great grandchildren, like you did with me when I was a little girl.  I miss the smell of your hair when you hugged me. I miss the warmth of your lips when you kissed my cheek.

I selfishly wish you could be here to celebrate Father’s Day with us, to celebrate the role you took in my life. But I can only hope that you can feel the love and the strength you left me with.

Missing you,
Your Daughter


Ryanick Paige is a freelance writer and bargain shopper extraordinaire. Some of her work can be read at Associated Content.

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Dear Dad, by Jennifer Flaten

Dear Dad,

I am writing this letter to thank you for all that you did for me. Now I know you may be a little confused about why I would want to thank you, considering what little time we spent together.

Well, that is exactly what I want to thank you for. As a deadbeat dad who would randomly pop into my life, you truly taught me to expect the unexpected.

Although, it happened so infrequently, I actually thought it was neat to have you show up and shower me with a huge amount of gifts-most of them extravagant to make up for all the birthdays, Christmases and report cards that came in between these visits. Kids are so easily impressed! (more…)

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To My Dad for Father’s Day, by Clarissa Wilson

I wasn’t going to write this to you but I decided to anyway. You are my dad, and even though you really make me mad at times, I still love you.

I know why you get so mean a lot of the time. I understand; I really do. I know you have a mental problem and as much as you admit it, you won’t get help. You think that you have been able to take care of it yourself but you really haven’t. Maybe, just maybe, if you woke up one day soon, you would realize that. You need help dad, and I wish I could help you.

I can’t help you though. The only person that can help you is yourself. That being said, I understand why you are the way you are. I know how you feel because I feel the same way when I don’t have my medicine. The difference between you and me is that I decided I wasn’t going to suffer for the rest of my life. I went and got the help I needed. I know you hate the medicine but when you need it, you need it. It is the way life is. If someone has a mental problem like we do, then the best thing to do for ourselves and everyone around us is to get the help we need.

But you refuse to and I will never understand why you refuse to make life easier for yourself and those who love you. We do love you, dad, but you are a hard person to live with and be around. I still love you and I always will no matter what. (more…)

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Dear Dad, by Randy Inman

Dear Dad.

Sometimes if feels like one hundred years since you died; other times, it’s like it was yesterday. As I grow older–and I hope wiser–it dawns on me anew what a terrible shame it was for you to pass when you did at a fairly young age. You worked hard your whole life to get a nice place for you and mama. Then shortly after doing that, you got sick.

As I watch my kids grow, I regret our relationship wasn’t as close as it could have been. No, we were not the type to speak of feelings to each other, but we knew it was there.

I wish you could know how sorry I am that the one time I can remember you saying “I love you” to me as an adult, I pretended to not hear and ask you to repeat it. You just replied “Nothing” and I left the room very quickly. It was after you were sick, and it scared me to hear you say that. I knew then that you were not going to beat cancer and that you would die.

Even though I was an adult, it was hard to picture you as just another man. You were my dad and close to indestructible in my eyes. When it finally sunk in you were going to die, I didn’t know what to say or do. (more…)

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