When I was 13,

I saw my dad cry for the first time

He held me and we cried together

Just a few days before it was time to go

“You’re taking my daughter and you’re leaving,” I heard him say to my mom

As I sat on my bedroom floor, eavesdropping through the door

Things were okay for a few years

He visited often while we adjusted to our new home

He became depressed

He started to slowly let go

Of his job, of his sobriety, of us

I know the world has hurt him

I miss him every single day

I know there’s nothing I can do

Which is what hurts me the most

Ever since we left, I’ve felt like there’s a puzzle piece

Missing from my life

He doesn’t deserve to feel like a failure

I am the only one who is not mad at him for losing

His job, his house, his credit score

I guess it has taught me that one’s mental health

Is far more important than materialistic items

And I will never change my mind