Patti Blagojevich

3 hrs Chicago

My long suffering daughter Amy Margaret felt she needed to get this off her chest. She asked
me to post it here, and if it brings her any relief or comfort, I'm happy to do so.
Dear Barack Obama,
If you didnt notice, I didnt refer to you as Mr. President this time. Thats because youve
lost my respect. Youve broken my heart once again, and youve betrayed the concept of
justice like many other heartless individuals have done before you. I thought you were
different. I thought you had a moral compass. Turns out youre just like the rest selfish and
spineless.
You cant deny that you saw the letters my sister and I wrote. I am almost certain that
someone put them directly in your hands. Thats what they told us they would do, at least.
So, you read them. You knew of our heartache and our desperation. Not only that, you knew
of the emotional beatings weve taken repeatedly over the last eight years; the kicks in the
gut when we were already on the ground, the knives in our backs. You stood by and watched
the arrest, the trials, the sentencing, the appellate court decision, the resentencing hearing,
and the horrific lies and hurtful words said in the press. You did nothing said nothing for
eight long years. While my father spent time behind barbed wire, you were living in the lap of
luxury. And, as hard as it was, I understood. I blamed you once. In my pre-teen mind, you
were what caused the destruction of my life. At one point, though, I moved on. I began to
support you. I accepted that you never wouldve done anything during your first term
because it would ruin your chances of getting reelected, and by the second term you had to
campaign for Hillary. When the election was done, and you were leaving office, I thought you
would finally do it. I couldnt fathom a reason why you wouldnt your career wasnt at stake
anymore. You know as well as anyone, that my father is guilty of nothing. He made mistakes
hes human, after all but nothing was illegal. I thought you would fix it. I thought you
would finally right this wrong. You didnt have to pardon him, only commute the sentence.
You just had to let him come home. You didnt. You released others, like Chelsea Manning or
FALN terrorists, who actually committed reprehensible crimes, but you failed to release an
innocent man. Even if he was guilty of anything, the fourteen year sentence was extreme and
you said yourself that you want to make sure that no one is being over sentenced.
My father had faith in you. He had, and still has, faith in the system, in justice, in mankind,
and in God. I, on the other hand, have lost all faith. I expect people to let me down. I expect
the scale of justice to tip in the favor of those who manipulate, lie, and scheme. As for God, I
have no reason to believe He exists. If I told this to my dad, it would break his heart. He has
become deeply faithful while in prison. He believes that God has a plan for everything and
that He is good. I dont buy it anymore. I want more than anything to have faith, but I dont
think I know how. If there was a God, an all-powerful, all good, and all knowing God, my
family wouldnt have had to endure this trauma.
Most importantly, though, my father believes in forgiveness. He harbors no ill will towards
anyone involved in his imprisonment. Hes not angry. He used to be, it caused him to drink
way too much to blunt the pain, but hes not anymore. Hes disappointed in you now, but hell
forgive you. He wont hold a grudge. I will, though. I have spent eight years of my life living
with such rage and resentment that allowing myself to actually feel it would be debilitating. I
am shocked at how bitter and full of hate I have become. Underneath that, though, Im just
sad and hurt. I am sad that I have absolutely no control over such an important part of my
life. I have no control over if my dad will be at my college graduation, or be there to walk me
down the aisle, or as a shoulder to cry on when life gets even harder though that seems
impossible to me right now. Since I was twelve, Ive been wanting my life to go back to

normal; to have my dad home and not have to worry about another let down. Ill be 21 this
summer, and Im still waiting. I dont even remember what normal was anymore. I have no
recollection of my childhood, and no desire to let myself reminisce in any of the good times.
You could have fixed it. It wouldnt have negated the past Im stuck with the scars for the
rest of my life but it wouldve allowed the cycle of trauma to finally come to an end. Ive
dealt with depression, anxiety, insomnia, and aspects of PTSD. Ive had days where I
couldnt pry myself from bed, days where I cant stop crying or feeling the pain that has been
inflicted continuously, and days where the fear of another eight years consumes me
completely. For a while I couldnt see a news truck without panicking. To this day, I still have
trouble with the sound of helicopters. After having them fly over my house for a week when
we were trapped inside, hiding from the parasites and their cameras parked on the streets,
the sound of one usually makes me feel paralyzed. Its gotten better, though. Most of the
time Im fine. Sometimes I barely notice it until its flying away. Other times its all I hear
especially when theres one near my house. Everything is treatable, Ive had more than
enough therapy to know that, but it doesnt change the fact that I spent my entire
adolescence in a state of fight or flight, or that every time theres a chance my last name will
be mentioned Im worried. It doesnt change the inexcusable remarks people have made
about my family and I, nor does it the fact that people feel it is their right to say whatever they
please to me or behind my back.
Ive handled it so far, though. Ive made it eight years. Im at a prestigious university and my
grades are good. Ive kept up appearances. Ive visited my dad when necessary no matter
how many wounds it reopens. Ive been faking being okay for so long, that sometimes its not
an act. Sometimes out of sight, out of mind is good enough. Doesnt make up for the guilt I
feel for avoiding reading emails from my dad, or talking about him. In high school, I would
never say anything about him. Something as trivial as my dads a Cubs fan used to feel
taboo to me. I figured that if I pretended I was a normal person, maybe everyone else would
forget.
I feel guilty that I cant be the daughter he needs right now. He lives for my sister and I, and
we repay him by rushing him off the phone and complaining about visiting. But thats how
Ive survived this long. Thats how Ive made it through. But I needed you to let him out. I
dont know how much longer I can keep it up. I dont think I can make it another eight years. I
was counting on you to help.
I dont understand why you couldnt put yourself in my fathers shoes. You have two
daughters and Im sure youre away from them a lot. Dont you miss them? Dont they miss
you? Wouldnt you do anything to spare them the agony of visiting you in prison? Dont you
want the best for them? If the answer to any of these is yes, then you shouldve commuted
the sentence in a heartbeat. Since you didnt, its my belief that you are either a horrible
parent or a horrible person. Either way, like I said before, Ive lost my respect for you.
Everyone seems to be mourning your exit from office. Im glad youre gone. Im not
delusional youre not a saint. You were a mediocre president with unoriginal ideas. Tell me,
how did you think of the idea for the Affordable Care Act? Did it have something to do with All
Kids? At least All Kids was done correctly, and, unlike the implementation of the Affordable
Care Act, it wasnt a failure.
I want you to know how disappointed I am. I didnt want to despise you, to have an almost
visceral reaction to the mention or image of you. I truly thought you were a good person. I
guess I was just as brainwashed as everyone else. At least now I can see the blood on your
hands. You can keep washing them, but theyll never be clean. You were a bystander to a
completely un-American act of injustice. Youre just as guilty as those who created it in the
first place.
Sincerely,
Amy Blagojevich