A little late, but better than never

When he died he took away my only chance to ever know and he took away most of my anger. What was left at that immediate moment was relief. What is left now is a wondering combination of the need to know and the want to move on. The man did more to fuck me up in four short years and a lifetime than anyone ever has or will again.

This was a man who could make you feel like you were the most perfect human being ever when he was there, and when he left he caused so much hurt and pain enough to make you wonder what it was you did to make him leave you. What was it about you that was not good enough anymore?

This man, my father (in genetics only), made me who I am and he didn’t even know it. He died with a picture of my son and I next to his bedside with a letter I had written shortly after my son’s birth. The letter written in a time of complete “clarity” of what I needed to do for my new family. I am sure that many can imagine what the letter said, I just didn’t know that I would never get the chance again to address him. It seemed when I wrote it just like it always had, a letter to something that had existed forever, or at least in my forever. Something I would always have the chance to do better at, question more, be rightfully angry at, fix, change, and love.

These options don’t exist now and all the does exist is an Aunt that I believe helped that man to finally end his life so she could have whatever meaningless shit he had left. She claims that he was poor, drug addicted, alcohol rattled, and womanizing to the point of being out of believers. In the papers she wrote that he had no family except her and when I wrote in to correct this I was ignored and told that this was inappropriate. I don’t know what she gained from it hopefully it was worth his life in the end.

My husband says that I should go after whatever was left, it should be mine. I don’t want it. Even money. I don’t care if it’s millions what good would it do? Sure, I could buy a house and be stable and make college funds for my kids, but it would be dirty. It would all be tainted and worthless. I don’t want his things or his money all I want and have ever wanted, was his time. Since that is gone, there is nothing left for me. Maybe someday, now that I am not 8½ months pregnant, I will go to his grave and leave him one last letter forgiving myself for leaving everything until the last minute.

Happy Birthday Peter.

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2 Comments on “A little late, but better than never”

  1. JenLive! Says:

    That’s a lot of pain that you’re carrying. Understandably so. I hope you find peace over this someday. It is possible, but there’s no set formula on how to get there. Venting, as you did here, is good.

  2. jennieology Says:

    Thank you, and its good to see you back.


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