Today, I came one step closer to that final goodbye…most people would be happy to know that they’re going to be getting money soon, but I started crying as soon as I finished the call. I guess there’s something about knowing that I’m receiving my portion of my father‘s death benefits, that makes his death seem more final. Don’t get me wrong, I obviously understand that my father is gone, but each task that I finish that is a result of his death, causes me to feel like he’s a little closer to being completely gone.
A year ago, I wasn’t even speaking to my father because I couldn’t deal with the night terrors that it caused. Now, it feels like there’s a portion of my heart that will always be torn because I’ll never talk to him again. I’ve spent so much of my life being pissed at him, at times even convincing myself that I hated him. But, recently I’ve discovered that I didn’t really hate him (which, I should’ve figured out when I still tried to make sure that he was taken care of, when even Mother Theresa would’ve given up on him), but I was so hurt and sad by the abuse that I endured it was easier to hate him.
Over the years I’ve been told that forgiveness is for you, it’s not for the person who needs to be forgiven, so many times I’ve lost count. I’ll be honest with you, I never believed it; after all, you’ve got to admit that it sounds like a crock of shit even to you. However, I have started to forgive my father since he’s been dead; I don’t honestly believe that he wanted his children to hate him so much, that it would result in him dying without either of them to support him. I’ve really tried to place myself in his shoes and see if there’s anything that could’ve led to him being such a tremendous ass. I’ve decided that those three tours in Vietnam probably didn’t help things, nor did being the first black police officer in our town. I’ve thought about what it must have been like to have a job before you were nine, to try and make sure your siblings didn’t starve. I’ve even talked to some of his siblings in order to try and understand him a little bit better, and I do. I still don’t excuse his behavior, if having bad shit happen to you gave you the right to become an abuser, then I sure as hell would’ve gotten a free pass in that department. But, I do think that his life didn’t turnout the way he would’ve liked….and, I am also able to admit that I love him even though I hate the things he did.
I’m one step closer to say that final goodbye, but I think I’ll always wish that things had been different in the end.
- The ballad of love and hate. . . (theramblingpenguin.wordpress.com)