I thought about you today,

that's really nothing new.

The past is always there, in my thoughts, in my mind;

daddy, I used to be so mad at you.

You yelled, you screamed, you choked,

sometimes I felt like I was drowning.

You acted as if you were a king,

and I was a mere peasant being punished for not bowing.

I used to curse you, dad,

I didn't know I could hold so much hate.

But God had me hear that song two years ago,

which opened up the flood gates.

I was told that I didn't have to forgive you yet,

I was told to not force forgiveness.

No one ever said that before, it was a surprise:

for the first time, I wasn't being forced to repair my brokeness.

Fourteen years of confusion,

fourteen years of fear.

Five years of realization

that I had lived fourteen years with a horrible abuser.

Two years of hating you

for the seizures that you caused.

The mention of your name struck fear and anger into my heart,

so much of it that I was living my life on pause.

Two years ago since I heard that song

that Matthew West sings.

"Forgiveness" is what he calls it,

how it tugged at my heart strings.

He was the one who told me to be cautious,

he was the one who said.

And I still hear his voice speaking,

"Kelli, God's not done with you yet."

Two years of healing,

I started on that road.

And I'm still unpacking all the baggage,

you left me with a heavy load.

The words I could never say,

I finally have them now.

Daddy, I'm not angry anymore;

I have, truly, forgiven you now.

I forgive you for the pain

that you caused to mom and Bree.

Because no matter how much I hurt, how much I cried,

their pain is what truly hurt me.

I forgive you for never being there by choice,

and for never listening to the stories I shared.

I forgive you for not loving me the right way;

I only wish that I didn't care.

I forgive you for everything else,

all the smaller and biggers things in between.

Most of all, for not being sincere

when you were apologizing.

You may never really be sorry,

but what I say now, I'm sure.

This is everything I needed to say, even if you never read this:

This, daddy, this is my closure.