Breaking Down

It has been six months to the day that my dad passed away.  I keep telling myself that I made peace with him and our issues when I visited him in March of this year.  But I don’t think that was really the case.  I do think I am kidding myself that there are no unresolved issues.  And those issues are slowly rising to the top of my emotional, scattered brain and heart.

I have been feeling wrong about the way I left things with my dad in March.  I should have sucked my shitty shit up and visited with him and my family on my last day.  Instead, I stayed holed up in my hotel room, by myself, sulking.  I really hated his wife.  I still hate his wife.  She is a despicable person and I treated her as such.  This was not fair to my dad.  Damn the regrets!  Damn them.  Damn me.  Why did I have to behave that way?  I actually did suck it up on that last day.  I was being very cordial to his wife.  I started playing with the boys indoors, which was a no-no for her.  I messed up.  I knocked a table, which knocked her mom’s knick-knack and that knick-knack crashed to the floor and broke.  It didn’t break into pieces, rather a little piece broke off that could easily have been glued back on.  She way over reacted and pitched a fit, I apologized, my dad got pissed at both of us and ran out the sliding door screen.  Actually, he ran through the screen, not realizing it was closed.  My brother and sister both chastised me.  I felt as small as an amoeba.  Instead of staying and facing the music and eating my dad’s fried chicken and apple pie for the last time in my life, I ran away.

I was an emotional wreck when I was there.  So emotional I could not see past it.  It consumed me.  My body felt the emotions and it felt like it was eating my insides.  I couldn’t control my emotions.  I couldn’t.  I was such a mess.  I tried so hard to keep it all together, but I couldn’t.  I failed.  I failed my dad.

I had dropped my son off at my dad’s house the next day so they could go fishing.  I went back to my room and cried and cried and cried.  I am not even sure why I was crying.  Everything just hurt.  When I picked up my son, I didn’t want to go inside.  I stayed outside the door waiting for him to come out.  Then I thought better of it.  I went inside and gave him a big hug and told him I was sorry.  I was sorry that I couldn’t stick around and sorry for the way I felt.

It wasn’t enough.  I still feel horrible.  I regret my behavior.  I miss my dad so much and I will never see him again and I will never get to eat his fried chicken with milk gravy or his apple pies again.  He made the best fried chicken.  Goddammit!  I fucking hate this horrible feeling.  I let my dad down.  I always have let my dad down.

So today, I am crying it out and I am writing it out.  I do not want to admit this wrong doing to anyone in my family or anyone else.  I am ashamed of myself.  I squandered my last chance to make peace with him in the end.

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About smommy

I am a single mom, by choice. I decided to separate from my husband and an unhappy marriage over three years ago. My son was two at the time. I am pretty much raising my kid on my own with occasional support of my family when I need it. (I don't like to admit I need it, ever!) My soon to be ex-husband (STBX) is an alcoholic and after we separated and he moved back to San Francisco, he became a drug addict also. Life is a struggle, but a sweet one since I have this awesome boy and we love each other sooooo much! Now, if I could magically be divorced, that would be great...but alas, I cannot force him to sign the documents. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, but there are moments when it seems so far away and unreachable.
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