THIS IS HEAVY AND VERY MUCH SELF INDULGENT AND THERAPEUTIC. SISTER, GET A TISSUE.

Dear Tony,

For the past three years, it seems you fell off the face of the planet. At one point I realized I did not even know if you were dead or alive. Some days I still see you. Emma will make a face that reminds me of you or I will pass an old DVD on the shelf at some store and think about how it was your favorite. Last week, I saw a guy buying sardines in the grocery store and I remembered how you would eat those for breakfast with french bread.

Then last Saturday it happened. At first I thought I was a mirage. My mind playing tricks on me. But there you were. Riding in the back of a truck with a bandanna on your head. You were dirty from what I can assume is a job working for your dad or uncle. I did not wave. I did not attempt to make any kind of contact with you. Mostly I just held my breath and prayed to sweet Jesus that one of the girls would not recognize you. My stomach did back flips and I felt nervous.

For the rest of the day I thought about you. I think of you sometimes. Not often, but sometimes.

However, I never miss you. I never wish you were back in our lives. I have never thought your halfhearted attempt at fatherhood was good enough for my girls.

But sometimes I will be taking out the garbage or mowing the grass or putting money into a sock so that the next payday I can add to it to buy shoes or new summer clothes for our kids and I get angry with you. I think about all the things I am doing because you simply could not be a man.

Sometimes I look at my kids at the park or at karate practice and I feel sorry for them. I feel pity that they do not have a dad there to watch them like the other little girls.

Sometimes I look at my kids and I feel guilt. I feel guilty that I chose the man I chose to be their father and he let us all down. I blame myself.

And then I have moments of clarity like now and I think, I am not to blame and if anyone should be pitied it is you. You are missing out on the lives of three smart, beautiful, lively, creative, strong little girls.

They do miss you and I let them. I often thank God you did not stay around long enough for them to get to know the real you. What they do remember of you are good things and I feel content with leaving it that way.

I do this for them, not you.

When you walked from our lives I felt more for the girls than I did myself. I cried for them and I prayed for them. But someone somewhere was praying for me. Someone somewhere was praying that God would send a man to me and these little girls.

He has arrived. And I am giving your children to him.

I use to wonder if they would miss you on their wedding day. If they would wish you were there to walk them down the aisle. My new prayer is that this man is here to stay and your honored spot at their wedding will be taken over.

He has taken over every other spot in their lives and he does it as a volunteer, getting paid only in love.

He calls them and kisses them and tells them he loves them.

He taught Emma to throw a baseball and he taught Cori to ride a bike with no training wheels.

He is teaching Olivia the importance of being a lady and respecting authority. He checks report cards and kisses boo-boos.

He is present at their birthday parties.

He wraps the presents he buys them for Christmas and he was their very first valentine.

But more importantly, I believe deep in my heart, that no matter what happens, he will be there to comfort them after their first heartbreak and he will pick them up at the movies. He will attend soccer games and take pictures before prom. He will help fill out college applications.

He will walk them down the aisle.

He is the father you chose not to be and I thank you. For all things there is a reason. The reason you left and shattered my world led to the reason this man found us.

From today on I choose to believe that leaving the way you did was the nicest thing you ever did for me and our daughters.

From today on I choose to feel sorry for you, because believe me when I say:: You lose.

Love,

Mandy