My dad died a few weeks ago. We haven’t spoken since November 1st, 2013. That was the day he threatened to shoot me if I went to his house with my children who wanted to see their grandpa.
After his death, I found out that he was in the hospital for weeks, and asked the two people who knew to not tell me. About a week before he died, he refused anymore treatment, knowing the outcome of that decision would be death.
For years after my dad threatened to shoot me, I wondered what I did so wrong that my own father didn’t love or want me. Through years of therapy I have learned that it had nothing to do with me, it was all him. It was his issues and it was his loss.
He missed out on ten years of my kids’ lives. He has no idea about the amazing, hard-working young adults they have grown into. He missed ten years of my life to as I have worked hard to become the authentic version of myself that I was always scared to be. He was the cause of that fear, along with many other people, who only loved and accepted me when I behaved exactly as they expected, but I digress.
My brother was tasked, by my dad before his death, to take care of his unfinished business and all the other things that have to be taken care of after death. Last weekend he asked me to help him take some things to the dump.
As we were unloading the trailer of all the things we needed to dispose of from my dad’s place one thought ran on a loop in my mind…
He lived 79 and half years and we are throwing most of his stuff away. As we unloaded the trash, I recognized a couch my parents bought when I was about five years old. We tossed it. It did not look like it was in any condition to be used as a couch. His home has piles and piles of stuff. It’s obvious his mental health deteriorated as he aged.
I mourned the loss of a father many years ago, but it was hard going to the dump to throw the possessions of his life away. It cemented the fact that he will never be able to make things right in our relationship. It also solidified that it was his loss.
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