Saloni Singh - Reconnecting with Dad

 

My dad died three years ago. None of us saw it coming. I hadn't spoken to him in 10 years at that time. You see, my dad was an angry man. You know the kind of people that when they scream, the house seems to shake. My mother and my brother had learned to hide in the shadows, but I made the mistake of speaking up when I was 10, and I became the focal point of all of his rage. Oh my God, it was such an abusive childhood that eventually I couldn't take it. I just cut off all contact.

 

I didn't get to see him before he died. I met my brother at the funeral and he told me that in the last few days, my dad kept insisting that he wanted to tell me something. “Me? Dad wanted to tell me something? Really? After a decade of silence, suddenly he had something to say? What did he want to say?” This question has driven me crazy for three years now. Until two days ago, I got an email from him. Here's what the email said:

 

"Dear Nona, your silence has made me very angry. Who do you think you are? How can you treat me like this? [audience chuckles] But eventually, the anger faded and I began to think. And I realized I've said so many things to you that have hurt you so badly. So, now, I believe that someday we'll just sit down and I'll make it right. But the doctors are telling me that I'll never see you again. So, here I am writing this email, hoping at least my words will reach you. Because I need to tell you that I know now that just because you have tattoos and an eyebrow piercing did not mean you were doing drugs. [audience laughter] 

 

That just because you decided to go to college and work instead of getting married at 21 did not mean that you were abandoning your Indian culture. That just because your loving boyfriend sleeps over now and then does not mean you've become a prostitute. [audience laughter] I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean to say it. I shouldn't have said it. I shouldn't have doubted you. Remember when you were a kid and every time you won a medal, I would take you out for ice cream? You would eat it with this big grin on your face, chocolate smeared everywhere? Can we do that one more time, please? Only this time, I won't ask you for straight A's or a medal. This time I won't celebrate a perfect scorecard. This time I'll celebrate my perfect daughter, because I'm so proud of who you've become. Go. Go. Be whoever you want. I won't stop you anymore. From this moment on, I'm just cheering you on. Love, Dad."

 

Powerful stuff, right? I mean, stuff like this doesn't happen in real life. A letter from the beyond? Like, stuff like this happens in movies, am I right? I'm absolutely right, you gullible people. This didn't happen. Look at you, looking for a happy ending. [audience laughter] My dad never wrote that email. [audience laughter] I wrote that email two days ago. [audience laughter] And no, I'm not completely crazy. A little crazy, but not completely crazy. You see, I read a book about forgiveness and closure, and it said instead of waiting for your parents to say the things you want them to say to you, you should say those things to yourself. And I was like, “All right.”

 

So, I went back home, I fired up my laptop, and this email just came pouring out of me, and I hit send. [audience laughter] And then, something bizarre happened, because when the email came back to me and I opened it, I could hear Dad's voice. As I began to read the words that I had just written a few seconds ago, it felt like he was sitting right here next to me, saying those things. He, he was saying those things, finally saying those things I'd waited for so long for him to say, and I began to cry. I cried for hours until I fell asleep. 

 

When I woke up the next morning, I decided that I'm going to choose to be the gullible idiot now. I choose to believe that Dad wrote that email. I choose to believe that if I had just made it to the hospital, he'd have made me sit down by his bed, held my hand, called me Nona one last time, and said exactly those things. He would have, right? So, now, every time I read that letter, I cry like a little baby. Every single time, this strange little letter is bringing me closer to a dad I lost so long ago. Thank you for listening.