Angry Letter

I was right, the envelope from my father contained an angry letter.

I got up early this morning and headed straight for my sewing machine. I wanted to finish up with a custom suit for one of my clients before I got carried away with cooking and preparing for tonight. When I finished, I walked past the table and saw the still unopened letter. I wasn’t planning on opening it. It just kind of happened. I thought I was being irrational by assuming it was an angry letter. To my not so pleasant surprise, my assumptions were right.

The moment I read the first line of the letter I wanted to burn it then throw the ashes into a box and FedEx it to the Bermuda Triangle so an extraterrestrial of some sort could pick it up and take it to a galaxy far far away. I know it’s a weird image, but I wanted that letter to be as far away from me as possible and no place on planet Earth or on the Milky Way was far enough.

“Tina, your inconsideration towards us is unforgivable and we are appalled by your outrageous behavior.” That is the exact first line of his letter. Who writes to their daughter like that? What outrageous behavior? What inconsideration? The only thing I’ve done is not call when I got back from New York. Scratch that. When I got back from New York, I called twice and when they didn’t answer that’s when I decided not to call anymore because they never answer. I called, but I didn’t leave a message. So, I guess me not leaving a message after they once again didn’t answer pissed them off. Why would I leave a message? Between the time they moved to New York and my visit to New York, I left dozens of messages and not once did they call me back. I believe that’s inconsideration.

Something else that I also found very inconsiderate was me coming home after taking my last final and finding them packing because they were moving to New York in four days. I found out they knew about their move for two whole months and not once did they bother telling me what was going on. I’m pretty sure if I had gone away for the weekend, I would’ve come home to find an empty house and a for sale sign on the lawn. Oh wait, there wouldn’t be a for sale sign on the lawn because they had already sold the house to a family friend a week before I even found out they were even moving.

I don’t understand why they’re so angry with me. I have every reason to be upset. I’m hurt damn it. I’ve been trying very hard to pretend I’m ok from my trip to New York, but I not. They all blame me for making my mom sick. Yes, at 5 lbs and 12 oz I used my magical voodoo powers and cursed my mom with postpartum depression. Even when we were finally having that conversation in New York, my dad still thought it was my fault. He didn’t say he had a hard time warming up to me because my mom was sick, instead he said he had a hard time warming up to me because I made her sick. I can deal with the fact that she was sick, but I’m having a really hard time dealing with the fact that they all blame me for her getting sick. And I’m no even going to bother thinking about the other issue with me being born that they revealed because that will probably make me incredibly depressed.

This whole thing is making my head spin. By the time I finished reading my dad’s letter I felt like I had just survived a nuclear bomb inside of a refrigerator (kind of like Indiana Jones). I was relieved the letter was over, and I was surprised I hadn’t been disintegrated.

It took me a few moments to recover from the explosion (figuratively speaking of course), but I realized this letter is progress. Yes, it was an angry letter, but he had actually taken the time to write it and send it to me. Call me crazy, but I believe that’s progress. An angry letter is better than no contact at all (like my mom’s angry phone call last week).

I think I’m going to write back in a few days. It’s not going to be an angry letter. I’m going to inform them that I have moved up one floor and they have the wrong address and home phone number. I’m not sure what else to write yet (or if I’m going to write anything else), but I’m not going to write anything that could ruin the progress they have made.

Now I’m in a gloomy mood and I’m probably going to have a hard time enjoying the Vegas night celebration tonight, but I’ll do my best. The only thing left to do is cook because everything else is ready to go.