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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The bond between a father and his daughter is nothing short of a sacred one. In this story, written as a letter from a father to his young child, Colton Wilson takes his child on a horrifying trip down memory lane.

Submitted: October 17, 2018

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Submitted: October 17, 2018



To Kimberly,

Hey, Bunny Rabbit, what's up, Babygirl? It's gettin' really late in here, but I just couldn't stop thinking about you, seeing your beautiful little face staring up at me with that firm fire in your eyes that always lets me know you're about to do something that Momma wouldn't approve of, and I just needed to write you a little personal message from Dad. I just need to get it out of my system; it's been hounding me for the last couple days, so I hope you can find the time to read this. I just wanted to tell you first and foremost, even if you are laying those mesmerizing eyes of yours upon this when you're a little bit older, I just want you to know how much I love you, and how sorry and remorseful I am, for everything that's happened. I didn't mean for things to fall down so deep, it just did it on its own. That's how life can be, sometimes, and there's nothing anyone can do to prevent it. It just is. That's the easiest way for me to explain it to someone your age, and I hope you can find it somewhere in your big heart to shed forgiveness for what I did. It was a mistake, and I'm so sorry that you were there to witness it all firsthand.

Baby, life isn't fair to people sometimes, you of all people should be aware of that. You can be taking a walk down the sidewalk in the middle of a crisp Spring morning, hearing the birds chirp musical tunes through your ears as you stroll, and in an instant--it can all end, dragging you into a dark abyss you desperately try to claw your way out of with every fiber in your being. Life is a funny thing, though, too; it's like that roller coaster at Elitch Gardens you loved to ride until both of our heads were spinning like a mary-go-round at full speed. It spins you upside down, plunges you underwater so you can't breathe, and it takes you back around again, so many times that you feel as if you're going to vomit up your guts each and every time it ceases to move for a single moment. And, just as you go to inhale your first breath of fresh air, it goes again. All the while that goes on, you're having the best time throughout the entire ride. That's life, and that's destiny; it's something that the good Lord has bestowed upon us, and it's what I want to just talk to you about in this letter; my life. I hope that's okay. It's all I've got for you.

Life wasn't always fair for me either, though, Baby, although I always exceeded the limits to hide my true mood when you were by my side. Daddy had some issues when he was your age, and all throughout my adolescent years, I had somehow managed to insert myself into all sorts of mischief and trouble. I can recall several times in high school, where the older and more powerful kids would taunt me every single day in the corridors; they would knock the lunch tray out of my hands, or knock the glasses off my nose with the simple flick of a wrist. At home, I didn't get along very well with my own mother and father especially well, or with any of my junior siblings; it wouldn't be a normal day in the Wilson household without a match of screaming and physical violence. I would leap from job to job, getting employed just to pilfer the cash from the register. My parents partook in some activities that could be considered hasty, and frowned upon by the general population, and because of the hostile environment that was always placed upon our house twenty-four/seven, Daddy grew up as someone who didn't take a liking to very many people, or grow to have a sense of trust. I got into so many physical fights with people who most likely didn't deserve it, but being harassed during my high school days changed the way I viewed the world, and the people in it. I hope you never have to sink so low and believe such deluded illusions, but I'm not worried, you're a phenomenal human being. But, fighting is just what I took a learning to from being brought up in a house with a bad family, filled to the brim with not-so-good influences. I'm just glad you never fight with anyone, you're always such a sweetheart to everyone. Even though my family at home wasn't a very enthusiastic one, I can see today, as a man who grew from experiences, that I am thankful for the way it turned out. Otherwise, I wouldn't be the man you grew to love, and there is nothing in the world I would trade that for.

I got kicked out of the only place that was close to a home when I was still just a kid. I know, it's crazy, right? But it's true. And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse than they possibly were, was the same exact moment my life took a nose dive into a river of absolute shit. Things got really bad for me, very quickly. I ended up owning no bed, no food, no clothes, no money, and no home. I understand you may not comprehend all of this at your age, but someday, you will. I would break and enter into vacant homes on the blocks I lived near, thieving anything I could get my grimy palms on. I beat on people, morphing myself into the very thing I swore to hate: a bully. Worse, an adult bully. I got involved in some illegal recreations. In school, they implant in your brain that drugs are bad for your health and mind, but throughout the early stages of my adulthood, I spent day after day dealing them, sweetie, I felt as if I had no other choice. But there always is. The man who let me crash on the couch in his house, a man named Chester, the man who I thought I could call a friend given everything we did for each other, had me deal the drugs in exchange for a place to lay my head every empty night. Even now, as I'm writing these very words, chills go down my spine when I confess my past. Not only because it's digging up old skeletons that I want forever to remain buried, but I wouldn't want you to think of me as a villain, or a "bad guy." But, it's all true. I'm not going to lie to you, anymore. However, like everything else in my young life up until that very point, those living conditions didn't last very long, either. As always, I seemed to get into lots of fights with the people I stayed less than ten feet away from, and soon thereafter the police became a regular part of my everyday life. A lot of Chester's "employees," as I called them were getting busted at every corner, and I just left in the middle of the night. I had to, or things would've gotten so much worse. 

After I left Chester's and his group of deluded misfits in Denver who liked to follow him everywhere he went, I, once again, had nowhere else to go. I couldn't financially support myself, and finding a job was a full-time job in and of itself, and as a last resort, I made the reluctant choice to go back to Arvada, Colorado, the city where I was born and raised in, but hadn't stepped foot in for nearly six years. I know that sounds like a long time for you, but as the days ass you over, and you reach your thirties and forties, days will seem like hours, sometimes. They do for me. Walking back into Arvada sent nothing but a rush of memories through my brain; one after the other in rapid fashion. I went to see my mother, the woman I felt holy enough to grant you the same name as her, and she thankfully got me a successful full-time job at The Yak and Yeti, an old-time themed restaurant and bar that supposedly had "remarkable award-winning food and beers." It was a giant yellow-colored house, and my mother was best friends with one of the then-owners daughter's. I was grateful and in debt to her, because she also let me sleep on her couch until I was able to scrape up enough money to relocate myself into an apartment of my own. Moving into that shitty one-bedroom on the east side of town was the very first time I truly lived by myself, and I was already twenty-three-years-old. Things were actually moving along quite productively, for what I felt like the first time in my life. Daddy had a full-time job with a decent pay rate and my own place to live. As a child, no more than your age, I had the strange idea that I would grow up and be world famous for something I was never sure of, but I always imagined being a celebrity that always had my own paparazzi around me at all times. I was doing well at that point in my life, but it wasn't anything like I was expecting as a young kid. I finally grew up, it just took me a little bit longer than the average person.

On the twenty-third morning of July, in 2009, is a day I will never forget as long as I live and breathe. It was an average shift at the Yak, and I'd been working there for just over a year when the bell rang at the front door, indicating that someone was entering the restaurant. It was a sound that became second nature to me. I looked up, and saw a young woman; and she was the most beautiful thing I had ever set my eyes upon, at that point in my life. Her clothes were raggy, I remember; her long and silk hazelnut shaded hair appearing as if Hurricane Katrina ran through it. Her black leggings were torn into shards near the bottom, and she sported two different shoes--both right feet--upon her own. I was the only one in the magnificent dining room at that exact moment, which I believe God had made so, and she instantly locked eyes with me. Though her face was smudged, and she looked like she had been through absolute hell, I was still petrified by the beauty she portrayed. Being beautiful is not always something you see on the outside, Kimmy, most of the time it comes from what we have in our hearts. Little did I know, that this young woman had been forced through so much, I hadn't had a single clue. As she looked at me, she made her way over to the bar table. I was scrubbing off the deck with a rag when a fellow co-worker of mine, a man by the name of Timothy emerged from the back. I attempted to act like I was paying no mind to the interaction as she walked up to Thomas, but my ears were open in their direction. The lady told Tim that she had no money, but was absolutely starving and hadn't eaten in several days. She was extremely thin, but my gears shifted as she spoke to him; bringing memories of myself being in her position to the very front of my mind. It rarely worked, in my case. Instead of being a decent human being with basic human compassion, or even nicely saying he couldn't just hand out free food, Tim spat back in her face with a machine gun fire of insults, ridiculing her for even trying to get a free meal out of him. He laughed at her, and told her the homeless shelter was five blocks down, before screaming at her to "get out of his restaurant," and never return unless she had some money.

I silently watched as the woman released a single tear down her cheek, partially cleaning her unwashed face, before she completely broke down, and began running back out the door. I know you can imagine that made Daddy pretty angry, and I certainly was. Tim looked at me and began speaking, but his words were blurred out as I ran after this girl, and stopped her at the door. I placed my hand on her shoulder, and it felt natural; that's the only word I can think of to describe it. Tim continued to mock her as I looked into her crying eyes and simply wanted to melt. You have those same eyes, baby. Looking at her, I could feel a connection to her, and the nervousness and gall within my body vanished that instant. I felt remorse for her, not only because I was in her own shoes for much of my late teens and early adult years, but because of the fact that she had been shunned away by a disgraceful man like Tim. It takes so much courage for you to ask someone for something, and to just be shot down like that, it makes you want to just disappear into dust. I recall she just looked at me like I was crazy, and we later laughed as she told me I had giant eyes in that moment. I bought her a meal with the cash in my own wallet, and I watched using my peripheral vision as she ate, while I continued my shift. It felt refreshing to help someone in need, and that is what I always wanted to hand down unto you; teach you to stand up for the oppressed, and help them if you have the ability to. You won't always, but if you have, you should help. It's the right thing to do, and it's what God would want you to do. I thank Him for screaming in my ear to stop the young lady as she ran, crying towards the front door. I asked for her name as she got up to leave, to which she told me: Ashley Detwiler. Ashley Detwiler, your mother. I nicknamed her "Ash," and she always loved it.

As the days passed and turned into weeks, your mother and I spent quite a large amount of time together. If we weren't side-by-side at the movie theatre, making cheesy jokes and chucking popcorn into each other's hair, not even paying attention to the showing film, we were speaking over the phone, or conversating through text messages. The more time I spent with this woman, the more I realized I was falling in love with her. My mother told me I needed to capture her attention fully after I relayed to her how I felt, and that's exactly what I planned to do. We had so much in common, I thought of her as an extension of myself; not only because of our similar pasts, but we both loved the same foods, the same pieces of literature, the same films, it was astonishing that two separate people who had never met before could enjoy all the same things. At the age of twenty-four, I believed my life was perfect; I finally had someone by my side, and no longer had to fear of traveling through life all by my lonesome. Though I perceived it to be perfect, I gotta tell you, Baby, we were incredibly young when we first met and started dating, still kids pretty much. I recall finding my faith in Jesus after Ash told me we should start attending church, and I gladly obliged. My relationship with our Heavenly Father only grew on from there. I had attended church as a child only a handful of times, mainly if they were serving a feast after a fellowship service. Both your mom and I loved going to church and praying, and we grew together as devout-as-possible Christian's from that point on. Those were some of the first greatest days of my life. Momma moved in with Daddy a little over a year after she first caught my eye in the Yak. Those first months of our relationship are memories I will never forget; all the nights we sat in line at the McDonald's drive-thru or running our car all throughout Arvada during the late nights, singing our favorite songs at the top of our lungs. We used to hike across the Cable-stayed bridge over by Gold Strike Park in the middle of the night. It was love, or the closest thing to it, that I had ever known.

Baby, ever since I was old enough to produce a thought in my thick-brimmed skull, I had always wondered what God had planned in store for me. The verse in the Bible found in Jeremiah, chapter twenty-nine, verse eleven, where it is written: "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future," really stuck with me when I was young. I had always thought that as long as I could get through my childhood, living in the world as a grown-up would be nothing but smooth sailing. When my own father physically threw me out of the house when I was only seventeen, I quit believing in God for quite a while; thinking he had given up on the so-called "great future," he had promised me in the Bible. I thought I was forgotten and unimportant, and that my life had no meaning or impact upon Him. I was planning on just flying through the life I was forced to live; filled with crashing on people's couches, and doing illegal activities to fund myself. Even during the first days that I was with Momma, a slither of my mental mind still partially believed that was true. But I was wrong, Sweetheart. No matter what you do, never forget that God loves you, and he is ALWAYS watching, no matter what you're doing.

There came a day not-so-long after when Ash told me that she was pregnant with a baby, and it was in that moment, that I felt my own heart stop beating inside my chest. An adrenaline rush of fear shot through my chest, and I swear to God I fully thought I died. Never once, up until that moment, did the scenario of raising my own little human even dare cross my mind. I always figured I would just grow up a lonely man, and as a young person, I didn't see any problem with that. A million things were going through my mind when Ash threw the pregnancy test at me with her natural beautiful smile upon her face; all of them fearful, but I thankfully managed to keep my exterior presence in check and put a fake smile on my face. I had become a pro at faking the way I felt. To be completely honest with you, Baby, Daddy actually planned on leaving in the middle of the night, the only thing keeping me staying was the love I had for your mother. I was extremely young and very scared. I eventually told Ash what I was thinking, and she reassured me that everything would be okay and work itself out. I'm not sure if I believed her, but her voice always soothed a tense mood I was in. It was also around the same time, that I realized that the life I was leading wouldn't be able to be financially stable, as I was still working at the Yak and Yeti at the time; which produced a whole new mental novel of fears.

But because of you, I went back to school, obtained my GED in only a couple of months, and began attending college at the University of Colorado Boulder, or simply CU, is what we all referred to it as. I kept my major "undecided," for most of my semesters because I didn't quite know what I wanted to do, all I knew for a fact was that I needed a degree of some sort to be able to care for a kid rightfully. Boulder was only a half-hour drive from where we lived, so it kind of worked out perfectly, in that sense. The second worst day of my life, was on October 19, 2010, where I watched my own mother take her last living breath in the hospital in Arvada. She had been diagnosed with a rare form of throat cancer only a short time before, and she kept it a secret until it was too late to do anything medically about it. I was the only one in the room when her spirit left her body, and ascended back into the Hands of God. Nothing in life prepared me for the moment that occurred; but I am just so grateful, that she saw me improving my once-worthless existence before she died. I found out that you were going to be a girl only a few days later, if I can recall correctly, and instantly I knew your name was going to be Kimberly; after my own mother. Come hell or high water, I would've convinced Ash to let that be your name. It didn't take much effort to convince her, she knew the state I was in and how close I was with my mom. Not only is it a beautiful name, but you carry the memory of everything I held close to my heart about that woman. She was a very good person not only to me but everyone who ever came into direct contact with her. I wanted a piece of that in my own child.

Born on March 6, 2011, you came into this world at precisely 12:04 PM. Kimberly Wilson, seven pounds, two ounces, twenty-and-a-half inches long; I hung your birth certificate up on the wall in our home. I can recall the day of your birth as if it was only yesterday; seeing your charming blue eyes look up directly into mine as your gripped your tiny hand around my pointer finger. I cried that day, but they were tears of joy. I had finally done something in my life that was worth something; you were the most precious thing I had ever laid eyes on, and I loved you so much, I didn't know it was possible to care for someone so deeply. I vowed to destroy anyone who would ever even imagine bringing harm to you, and those scriptures are still true to this very day. It was the best day of my life. I asked Momma if it was the best day of your life, and she replied with "no," with a slight chuckle. She was in a lot of pain, but the second she saw you, like I, it was instant love. We both loved you with every single fiber of our beings, and we both still do.

It was at that moment, my life continued to go through drastic adjustments every single day, but I remember almost everything, the memories of your early months and years stored away in my rather large mind like a mental photograph. You were a Daddy's Girl, for sure, and I spoiled the living crap out of you, as much as I was financially able to do. You loved macaroni and cheese, creating pictures from your own imagination using crayons, colored pencils, and markers, sometimes scribbling on our own belongings when you ran out of paper. You also had an obsessive attraction to animals, mainly cats. I hated cats, myself, but you were infatuated with them, so they were always in our home, running around our feet. Our little family was nothing short of perfect; I worked every day of my life to provide for you to the best of my ability. Four whole years after you entered this world, my little minion, I graduated from the University of Colorado Boulder with a Bachelor's in Business Law, and for the first time in Daddy's life, he finally began to build a foundation for both himself, as well as his two girls. I began to take courses to morph myself into a fully-successful Real Estate Agent, and everything was absolutely magnificent.

I can't stress how perfect everything in my life seemed; the old Daddy, the one who hung around with criminals and drug dealers; acting like one myself, would never have imagined I would be twenty-nine-years-old, raising a family, sporting a college degree and a well-paying occupation. Ash and I never married; we didn't think it was necessary to have a signed piece of paper to dictate the love we had for each other. We believed we were spiritually married, in the eyes of God, and we were both satisfied to the fullest extent with our decision. And that is something I also wanted to install inside your brain at the earliest possible age: you don't have to just go along with what everyone else is doing, just because it's what seems normal. It is okay to be different. A lot of people kind of shut us out after we announced our decision to not wed each other like any other couple. And that is okay.

August 13, 2016, was a calm Saturday, if I can remember correctly, and was just like any other average day. You were five-years-old, an innocent little girl who didn't think negative of practically any human being, no matter what they were doing, or had done. On That Day, I returned to our country home just outside Arvada to shockingly find an abnormal vehicle parked in our driveway. I had just assumed one of Momma's friends had come over, and didn't think anything about it. It wasn't until I walked through the front door did I find a man by the name of Titus Lambert in our home, with my wife, your mother, in our bed. Like I had written before, the old Daddy was a mean and vicious person who physically fought with people on a daily basis. Ever since you had come into the picture, I hadn't laid a single finger on any human being with the intention of inflicting any sort of injury upon them. I hadn't been the old Daddy in a long time, but something about seeing a different man with Momma triggered me, and I practically snapped.

To be completely honest, honey, I can't remember a lot of what went down in the living room. There was a lot of screaming and name-calling in a three-way fight, and I just felt betrayed on the inside. At the time, I fully believed it was just burning rage, but later, I came to realize it had been pure betrayal that was burning in my soul. I couldn't comprehend that the woman I had spent the last five years of my life with, raising you in a house of our own, would impale me in the back with the largest blade she could get her hands on. And seeing that motherfucker look me in my eyes triggered me. I hit Mr. Titus Lambert, and I struck him hard. At some point, you had come in the living room due to all the screaming I presumed, and you came in right as my closed fist made direct contact with his jaw. You instantly started crying, which made me even more enraged at Titus, at the fact that you were scared because of the way I was acting. You just sat on the end of the couch and cried, your beautiful hair a mess, while the living room became a boxing ring. Baby, I am so sorry you had to see that. I had spent the better part of half a decade preparing myself so you would never have to witness Daddy acting like that, but you ended up getting front row tickets to my heavily unwanted comeback. Just know that I am not like that anymore, okay?

At the time, I decided to do what I thought was best under the tense circumstances: I grabbed you, lifted you up on my side, and left the house. You were still crying, and I was too, but when I picked you up; all you did was embrace me in a hug, which made my heart completely warm; that you weren't afraid of me, or upset at the way I had acted. Momma tried fighting to get you to stay, but let's be honest, she was no match against me. Besides, you said you wanted to go with me anyways. I wasn't going to allow you to be around a woman who forsakes her own family for some random man with lustful thoughts. We got in the car, and we left, I didn't trust myself to be under the same roof with Titus and Momma. Of course, I had originally planned on coming back, but I was so angry at the time, and the adrenaline was pumping through my body, that I tore out of our driveway at a high rate of speed, with you in the backseat. Through all of it, I tried calming you down, and promised that everything was going to be just fine. You asked me if I was gonna kill that man that Momma was with.

And for the first time that night, I laughed. It was such an odd and blunt question that the chuckle kind of had to leave my body as an automatic response, because you sounded so innocent. It was something only you had the ability to do, and you didn't even understand why I laughed. You had kind of a confused, yet insanely adorable expression on your face through your tears, before giving off a slight high-pitched chuckle of your own. We lived out in the country at the time, off in the beautiful Rocky Mountains; you loved to go sledding down the slopes during the winter, and exploring the endless tree-filled wonder during the Summer and Fall.

Babygirl, that night so many things were running through my pea-sized brain; not only was I laughing and crying at the same time, but I believed that life as I knew it had come to an abrupt end. Where was I going to go? What was I going to do? The only tidbit of information I held in my head about joint-custody parenting was from acquaintances I had cut ties with many years before, but it certainly wasn't healthy in the least bit. The adrenaline from the wrestling match that had just unfolded in our living room had yet to exhale from my body, and my eyes were darting around the night sky like a drugged-out tweaker. I was so focused on Momma and living in the moment, that I failed to pay close attention to the bright yellow sign up ahead that let pursuing drivers know there was a sharp nearly ninety-degree angle turn coming straight at us. I had driven down the road hundreds of times--possibly thousands, but that night it didn't click.

The last phrase I remember uttering from my lips was, "oh, shit!" before I gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles began morphing into an albino white shade, and jerk the wheel as quickly as possible to the left, the direction of the turn. All I saw was that sign hurling towards us at a high rate of speed, and nothing in my mind registered, until that very moment. I didn't even have time to look back at you.

When I jerked the wheel, our beautiful Ford Escape flipped and hurled. I was informed later by investigators that I had to have been speeding in excess of ninety to ninety-five miles an hour, and I don't dispute that piece of forensic evidence. The vehicle flipped a handful of times, and though this slice of my memory wouldn't come back until I attempted to drift off to sleep one lonely night, I can remember you screaming for help. I'm sorry if my handwriting is a little shaky; my eyes are filling with tears and it's blurring my vision. But the car went through that poorly-built barrier like a hot knife through a pad of butter. I remember smashing my head two consecutive times, once against the driver's side window before it splintered under the pavement, and once against the roof of the car as it flipped, hitting it so hard I bit off a portion of my tongue on impact. I was forcibly thrown into the passenger seat after striking the barrier, and my own personal memory shuts down like an old desktop computer.

The next thing that I can bring to the front of my damaged mind, is being guided down the hallway of what was Lutheran Medical Center; the lights that sat above each patient room beaming down on me as we traveled, my limp body upon a gurney. I couldn't move, and a plethora of medical health professionals swarmed around me. I couldn't physically speak, either, but in my mind I was yelling at the top of my lungs, shattering wine glasses. For the first few moments, I had temporary amnesia and had no clue what was occurring, but it all came back to me in a flood.

I was told later that our car most likely went airborne for a few yards, and struck a magnificent tree after smashing through the barrier, before veering an astonishing eighty-three feet down a slope, the car acting as the vital instrument in a game of Spin the Bottle, before slamming nearly headfirst into a mighty chunk of mother nature that prevented us from flying any further. As the doctor was explaining to me that I had broken both of my legs, fractured my spine, and punctured a lung, I did my very best to explain to her that I didn't care what was wrong with me, I only desired to know what happened to you, the expression that took over her face told me everything I had asked, though she kept shaking her head "no," over and over again.

I'm sorry, baby, I need to take a break, I can't put this on my heart a second time.


Dr. Kellie Caldwell told me later that night that you did not survive the wreck. I am shameful to admit it, but my initial response was a slight laugh, I thought she was making a sick joke and I didn't want to appear disrespectful and not appreciate a sense of humor like my own, but she just shook her head at me, and clasped the clipboard against her chest. She began crying and stated that you had died from extreme blunt force trauma to your little head. I screamed at the top of my lungs, hyperventilating and feeling like the room was closing in on me. The temperature inside my room raised ninety degrees in less than five seconds, and I had what the psychologist labeled a "severe mental breakdown." I punched a large hole through the drywall, and had to be sedated back to my assigned bed. Outside the hospital walls, completely oblivious to my painful mind, we were the "talk of the town," the newspaper had plastered your beautiful face across its front page, using the same photograph I hang next to my bedside. It's my all-time favorite picture of you; sitting on a set of playground swings, your legs up in the air, the biggest smile on your face. You didn't know I was photographing your essence, but it captured your true happiness in that simple moment.

I wanted to die, baby, and on some hard nights, the thought of ceasing to exist still crosses my mind. I no longer cared to breathe another breath of fresh air as long as you weren't there next to me. You saved me from the horrible person I was slowly morphing into, and I destroyed you in return. You were my guardian Angel, my Savior, and you were gone. The reality of the situation didn't etch its way into my head until the following morning, when you really weren't there, and I broke down again. I refused to even glance at myself in the mirror; I didn't want to see the killer I saw in the reflection. I wanted to amputate my hands, I was truly disgusted with myself. There were, and still are, no verbal words invented that accurately described the state of mind I was in, a dark abyss that I was too emotionally unstable to crawl myself out of. I then moved the anger and hatred I had towards myself, towards the same One I had once sworn to worship, our Lord. He took you from me, even though you were mine. I was confused, and it wasn't fair to either of us.

Daddy was alone in the hospital. Ash didn't come to see me even a single time, not that I blame her in the least bit. If the roles had been switched, I would've been the exact same way. I spent weeks in the hospital, alone, which only added to the gigantic pile of depression that had already settled over me like a dark thunderstorm. The two women who ever looked at me with ambition were gone, and I can't even bring your name to my mind without falling to my knees and bellowing. You were, and always will be, the greatest thing I ever did in my worthless life, and there is not a single minute that passes with the dreaded days that I don't think about what you would be doing today, and reminisce about the life you lived.

In the State of Colorado, every automobile accident that ends in the death of an individual gets investigated by the police, no matter what. I was submitted in the hospital to dozens upon dozens of different examinations, to conclude whether or not I was under the influence of any sort of controlled substance at the time of the accident--which I wasn't. I was over six years sober of everything, it was the one achievement I still had left to my riddled name. Though I wasn't drunk, they did find me guilty of negligence in the eyes of the law for speeding at nearly twice the stated speed limit, and I was formally charged with vehicular manslaughter in the death of you, my own child. I never even step foot out of the hospital, the moment I was checked out, two officers handcuffed me and took me straight to the jail.

I didn't bother pleading not guilty to anything, because I was. I didn't care what happened to me anymore. Without you in this world, I didn't want to live. I was sentenced to four whole years in prison, which I know sounds like a very long time to you, but to me, I don't think it'll even count towards the lifetime of agony I'll have on my shoulders for the rest of my life. I haven't seen Momma since that night, though she did send me a letter after I was sentenced filled with pictures of you, my beautiful girl, and for that, I will always hold love for her in my heart. She married Titus Lambert, believe it or not, and recently gave birth to a little boy. Can you believe it, you're an older sister? Don't be mad at Momma though, she was just as destroyed about you as I was, if not more. She was angry with me, and she had every single right to. We both loved you more than life in itself, and I still do.

You would be seven-years-old today, and I often ponder in my mind what you'd be up to with your creative mind, and there isn't a single minute that's passed I don't think of you, running up to me with your extended arms to wrap around my leg. I do wonder what you're up to up in God's Palace, though, are you being good? I learned to blame myself for what happened that night, and no longer have any resentment towards Him for my actions, because I know He's taking good care of you. He took you because you deserved to be in Heaven with Him, and I've seen you in my dreams, holding His hand and waving at me with your other. I know you watch over me, Babygirl, and I hope God has forgiven me and allow me to one day join you, with Momma.

Kimmy, honey, I cannot put into words the remorse I hide inside for what happened, how much I've prayed and wished that you were here with me and Momma, but I know in my heart you are in a better place, watching over me. You truly are my Guardian Angel. I'm sorry I'm getting tears on this paper. When I get to Heaven, I hope both you and God forgive me for my actions. I know you will, baby, you could never stay mad at anybody. Only then, will we be together, again.

Well, the lights are going off, baby, and that means it's time for me to turn in for the night. I just want you to remember that I love you, Bunny Rabbit, more than anything in this world, now and forever.


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