Day 14 — Regrets and Hopes
580 Words
Dear Dad,
It’s the 14th letter, and somehow writing to you still feels as fresh as the first. Maybe it’s because I carry you with me every day — in my thoughts, in my dreams, and in the silences between laughter.
Today, I want to talk about two things that have been heavy on my heart: my regrets and my hopes.
Let me start with the regrets, because they weigh more. I regret not knowing you as deeply as I wish I had. I regret every time I chose to stay silent when I could’ve asked you questions — about your life, your dreams, your childhood, the things that made you who you were. You were always there, yet I never thought you’d be gone so soon. I took time for granted. I thought there’d always be another weekend, another holiday, another random moment to sit and just talk.
I regret not telling you "I love you" more. I regret not hugging you tighter or longer. I regret every eye-roll I gave when you tried to give advice, thinking I knew better. I regret not understanding the weight you carried to keep us going. As a kid, I saw the surface — you going to work, coming home tired. But now as I grow, I see the sacrifice, the battles you fought silently, and how little I said “thank you.”
One of my biggest regrets is not being there in your final moments. Life was moving too fast, and I wasn’t paying attention to what really mattered. By the time I realized I needed to be close, it was too late. That moment haunts me sometimes, Dad — the moment I should’ve been holding your hand, whispering comfort, reminding you you’re loved beyond measure. I wish I could rewrite that.
But beyond my regrets, I carry hope. Hope is what keeps me from drowning in sorrow. I hope that somehow, wherever you are, you see how far I’ve come and how hard I’m trying. I hope you’re proud — even on the days I fall short, even on the days I feel lost. I hope your spirit visits me in moments I don’t recognize, comforting me in silence when I feel like I can’t go on.
I hope to live a life that honors you — not just in success, but in the way I love others, in the way I carry responsibility, in how I show up for the people who matter. I hope to make you smile with the way I treat Mom, the way I hold on to family, the way I speak your name with pride.
I hope that one day, when I have children of my own, I can be even half the father you were. That I’ll raise them with strength and tenderness, the way you did. That I’ll tell them stories about you — not as a myth, but as the man who built the foundation of who I am.
Dad, I can’t change the past, but I’m learning to make peace with it. I’m learning to forgive myself. And more importantly, I’m learning to hold on to the hope that the love between us didn’t end with your last breath — it’s still alive, growing, guiding me, and reminding me that some bonds never break.
I miss you, always. But I carry you forward with me, in every step, every lesson, and every prayer.
With all my heart,
*Ayo*
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- Writer
