Ya’ll May Be His Kids By Blood, But I’m His Chosen Child. F**k Ya’ll!


To His “Kids,”

As he lay there dying, who held his hand? Who changed his multiple colostomy bags, gave him sponge baths, fed him, and listened to him? Certainly not his “kids.” No, it was I who held his hand and pushed his wheelchair. All while you did everything possible to create drama during the last year of his life.

This man only wanted peace amongst his family, and all you did was create chaos. All five of you. Hate me all you want. That’s fine. Because at the end, it was I who took care of him and kept him at home, while the cancer took his essence, his mind, his body, and finally, when it was too much, the cancer took his soul. I will never forgive you for that. I will never let go of the pain I heard and felt as he vented his pain to me.

You were not there. Yet you all had the audacity to tell me that I am not his daughter?! At the end, I asked him who you all were, and he couldn’t recall. But he asked for me. I hope that burns your soul.

Most Sincerely,

The Daughter He Chose

image: Elvert Barnes