To whom it may concern,
I was only one year old when I got my first heartbreak. Of course at that age, I didn't realize it. You left us, dad. My five-year-old brother, and my mother. Yes, you left for a better life, to make money that you would send us. At least, that's how it started. I don't know at what age I started asking questions about my father's whereabouts. Maybe between Father's Day at school, when all my classmates would sing to their fathers, or when my cousin would always call me an orphan. She was that stupid.
I won't ever forget the tears that rolled down my mom's cheeks as I sang to her on Father's Day, she was my mom and dad; sometimes when my mom couldn't, my grandma would come. She was my everything, she is my everything. I can't forget the way my brother looked and longed for a father figure, the way he always took care of me, even now he continues to look after me. The one thing I definitely would never forget, are the times I would watch an airplane fly by and tell people, "my dad is on that plane, coming home". I would wait for you to come back until eventually, my childlike mind would forget.

The pictures that I had of you, I couldn't help but feel as if I was looking at a picture of a stranger. The rare video chats made me feel uncomfortable, I didn't know who I was talking to. My entire family would tell me stories of you, my mom tried her best to keep you alive in my thoughts, in my heart. None of it stuck. But of course, I had that love for you, the desire to meet you. I loved somebody I've never once held a face to face conversation, but that's how love works right? That unspoken kind of love, the one that's just there.
I had accepted my life, I was content and happy with my life. Until that call, the call that changed my entire life. My mother worked twice a day, there were days that I didn't get to see her. I would wake up and she was already working, I would go to sleep and she was still working. I remember owing the owner of the store around the corner money, from the food he would give us when my mom didn't have the money to pay him. But we eventually paid him everything, when my mom was getting on her feet when she finally moved on over the heartbreak that my dad caused her. But then she received that call, he wanted us to come live with him. He wanted to see us again. My mom refused at first, but then she thought about my brother, about me. She asked if I wanted to meet him, and as any other kid that would have done the same, I said yes.
I thought that the place he lived was close, maybe a few towns over. I didn't think about the fact that I wouldn't see my family in a long long long time. That I would leave my friends behind. I didn't think of the sacrifice my mom made, I just wanted to see my father. And so I did. I learned a new language, went to a foreign school, made friends, I had a father with me. That fantasy lasted a few years. He made mistake after mistake after mistake. I had forgiven him every time, but he hurt my mother and brother beyond repair. So, I'm back where I started. I live with my mother and brother. The only difference is that my everything isn't with me, that I still haven't seen my family, and that now he actually does live a few towns over.
I can't say that I regret agreeing to come live with my dad. I would have never met my two amazing best friends, own the many stuff I have, that I would of never own over there. I'm safer, my mom and brother are happier but the loneliness that we feel around a holiday is almost not worth it. Almost, I will do everything in my power to go back to see my family, to take advantage of the opportunity I was given. So thank you, dad, for at least that.

Love,
Jen