I breathe, therefore I blog.

Dear Dad,

What you don't realize is that this looks all too familiar to us. You're working the steps, and you're at step nine.

I think I'm supposed to have forgiven you by now, and I usually say I have, but, to be honest, I have no idea what that looks like. The memories of you have become so much a part of my consciousness that I have no idea how to reconcile those memories with this abstract idea called "forgiveness."

I will never forget the way Mom looked and sounded when she was sitting on the floor sobbing in a way that I had never (and have never since) heard a person sob.

I can't forget the note you wrote on the whiteboard in our house after we moved out that said, "Life is good." Mom put that whiteboard on the fridge. It was for phone messages, and I probably wasn't supposed to see your note, but I did. I wrote in response, "My life sucks." And it did. It was awful.

I will never forget the many family vacations that you destroyed through drinking and drugs and your ruthless anger. I will never forget the embarrassment that I felt when I knew that the people at the other campsites could hear you or the fear I felt driving in the car with you after you had been drinking.

I will never forget Mom's screams from the bedroom. I heard the pounding and the sobbing and the screaming.

I will never forget the time when I was an angel in the drive thru nativity at church. You drove through drunk, honking at me. The angel next to me said, "Who is that idiot?" I said, "I don't know," in a voice of disgust. I couldn't even admit that you were my dad.

I will never forget hurrying home from school to clean the house every day. I thought that, maybe if the house was clean, you would be happy. You never noticed, and there was always something that was wrong.

I will never forget the feeling of dread as I climbed the front porch steps with friends from the neighborhood--never really sure what we would walk in on.

I will never forget night after night of Mom wondering where you were. Driving through the parking lot at the local bar should have become routine, but every time it would make my heart race because I was afraid you would come out and see us.

I will never forget Roxanne's boyfriend sleeping in his car in front of Nana's house because he was afraid you would come and kill us--an act that has made me love my brother-in-law unconditionally forever and hate you a little more.

It's just hard to take you seriously, now. I can only make amends with you so many times before I start protecting myself from you rather than trusting in your good intentions. I'm a big girl now. A girl who knows who I am and what makes me happy and that you just don't fit into that picture.

You know, I'm not sure I do forgive you. I just don't know how I can.