I don’t remember how old I was. I was little, an awkward being that was all legs without the slightest inkling of what it would take to get my feet underneath me. I was in the surveillance period for my cancer and living with my father, his mother, and some of his siblings. There was yelling, all the time. I never paid it too much mind unless it was directed towards me. I had a very active imagination, there were castles and warrior princesses that outsmarted everyone and ruled kind and just. They were often mistreated, but would surmount their emotional reaction and do what needs to be done according to their moral compass. There was yelling and people were running upstairs and screams. There were sirens. My Granny let these strange men into the house with their official uniforms, there was more shouting. They go upstairs and I am scared. I don’t know what is happening. The strangers return downstairs with my father. I am hiding under a table with a glass top to it. I am terrified by what seems to be a natural disaster in my house. My dad is cussing and yelling. They take him outside for awhile. I don’t know if he’ll be coming back in. He eventually does.
He had been beating up my aunt. I guess he didn’t agree with something she had done.
I don’t know now if I want him to come back.
My Granny and I were sitting down to brunch and I was talking out the most recent decision of his that made me question his value in my life.
I had my fiancé decide to kick me out of the house and end our relationship. I had not been forthright about my whereabouts. He didn’t like that, but it was just the tipping point. He told me he wants me to start packing my bags tomorrow. I tell him that I will do him one better and be out of the house by the next day. He leaves and I spend the rest of the night packing and getting the boxes ready to move out in the morning. I find a stopping point and take a moment of reprieve and rest my weary soul. I awake to my father calling. He tells me that my now ex should have kicked me out long before now and it was all my fault. I finish that conversation off quickly, because that was the last thing I needed on that day. I packed and left by the end of the day.
It just makes me wonder what ulterior motive my father had. He was to move in with us for a short period and now I alone had left him homeless. This is how I see it playing out in his head. However, my past with him leaves me inclined to permanently shut that door in my life as he has had time and time again to make a relationship between us work. Each time he somehow lets me down. I honestly wish it wasn’t the case. I fantasize about a man that isn’t prone to putting his plans ahead of the needs of his family. He has emotionally hurt me and my sibling countless times and always feels that what he has done has been the right course of action. I want to let him in and have him do right by me, but I know he never will. He will always disappoint me.
My grandmother’s council was that he was soon to be gone forever with the way his health has been looking. My father had told me that I was to irresponsible to handle his remains. She insisted that that would be a door I would regret shutting once he was deceased and furthered it by badgering me into agreeing to contact him. How is he ever going to learn how much he has hurt me in the past and all the way up until that day where I ceased communication with him. He has done more harm than good in my life and I refuse to accept that I am the reason he continues to hurt me.
I don’t know if I want him in my life.
That might be another funeral I will skip.