I know you didn’t mean to Daddy. I know you wouldn’t have left Grandma stranded if you could have helped it. If you would have expected it. To die.

I don’t know what broke you along the way. I don’t know what made you think you were so much more than less than. Why you didn’t think you …. why didn’t try harder to have things you deserved. People you deserved. I used to not understand why you wouldn’t let people in in those last few years. I think now you let the depression wrap you up and whisper to you that no one would come anyway so you sat in your chair and pouted and told yourself that you were getting what you deserved.

But you let her kill you Dad. And that wasn’t okay. You deserved better than that. You deserved more than what depression promised you. Depression promised you that no one would love you. Only her. That no one would help. Only her.

And when the voices of your sons told you otherwise, depression drowned them out. Depression and brokenness told you that they didn’t mean it. That they were out for something or that they wouldn’t really be there like they promised.

You never thought yourself worthy of loving. Really loving. and dammit dad. You were.

I mean, okay fine. Sometimes you were not. Sometimes you were a real prick sumbitch. Let’s face that. Dean wasn’t always a joy to be around. But here’s the thing – Your heart was good. And even after you died – your heart was the only part of you that wasn’t just ravaged. You had a good heart to the very end.

I never could fix you. I didn’t understand. And even if I could have understood, I wasn’t the one to fix you – that was up to you. But I think the whispers of worthlessness took their toll on you and wrecked your confidence.

I’ve fixed me. Most of the time. Not always. Depression winds its nasty web around me sometimes too. The difference is that I now know to keep scissors at the ready to cut away its sticky bonds that try to pull me down. I don’t think you ever knew you had a chance to grab the scissors and hack away.

You were a good man. People did love you. People miss you still. As for me . . . in the quiet of the night . . . I reach my heart out through the veil . . . I hold your broken hearted childness . . . I rock you and pray that somehow . . . somehow . . . this daughter’s love that finally understands you more . . . somehow you can feel me . . . and can let yourself be loved.