Since I got your letter, I’ve been thinking about my response. I’ve written this letter a thousand times in my head. Wish I had actually wrote some of the stuff down, ’cause I can’t seem to find the right words right now. The balled up pieces of paper around me are a testament of that.
I’m just not sure if I’m ready to reconnect. I mean, we haven’t spoken in years. My thing was, when I left the house I left the family. Nothing good ever came from being a part of it. I only went to the funeral to make sure that old bastard was really dead.
You’ve always been the understanding one so it doesn’t surprise me that you’re moved by those letters you found. But all that does nothing for me. They were our parents. The adults. The ones that made the decision to have us. They should’ve done better. Or at least tried. I can’t think of one time where any of us were happy. Or at least not together anyway. Well, I’m happy now with my family. Too much pain dealing with the past. I’m sorry, Paul, but I just don’t want to deal with that. Hope you understand. The end of the road for us was long ago.