Nobody was sorry to see him die, not me or any of his other children – those of us unfortunate enough to be borne by him. It might sound bad to some, heartless even but after years of disappointment, embarrassment and selfishness, what could anyone expect?
Years ago, I used to think that I would cry – that I would mourn the life we never had with him and the opportunities he missed. Those were the days when I was proud to be called a “Daddy’s Girl” even though the figure himself was as present as he was sober. Apparently, for the first two years of my life that he lived with us, I was his little girl, but unfortunately, it took a lot longer than two years for me to see him for what he truly was – a drunk whose two baby sons that had passed were more important than his three breathing daughters and one living son.
After two heart attacks, refusing to take his warfarin because it didn’t mix with alcohol and a near fatal bout of septicemia, you would think he would have seen the light; changed his life and been grateful for each and every new day. But the funny thing about addicts is that it rarely ever works like that – the addiction is stronger than logic or common sense and the love is always for the devil.
Relatives only have two choices: to hope and pray for a better day whilst sticking around out of some misguided sense of loyalty; or to eventually give up, turn away and get on with their own lives without the uncertainty of what unwanted problems an addict can bring. I chose the latter.
Were we better off without him? Definitely. Did that make the rejection and lack of consideration any less painful? Never. But I guess he never cared enough to find out any of this before his time wasted on this earth was up.
So, I saw today’s Daily Post daily prompt “Dramatic” and this instantly popped to mind. I had the first paragraph written down already from a late night inspiration and this prompt inspired me to turn it into the beginning of something. So here it is. Dramatic Fiction.
Is it real? Mostly. All except the fact my father has not yet passed. But when he does, this is what I would write about it.