My Dad

So, once again I haven’t wrote in a long time but I feel as though I need to put my thoughts into words and thought where best to do this than on here.

Two days ago my 51 year old dad died. We were never close. I longed for a relationship with a “real” dad and he, for one reason or another, never quite “fit the bill”. Nevertheless, I was there when he died in hospital and it knocked me for six. I never thought I would care that much. Growing up, if somebody asked me about my dad I would say “I wish he’d die!” or “I hate my dad”. There was a lot that had happened over the years to make me feel this way (that I don’t feel I should go into out of respect) but now all I feel is guilt. I should have been there. He was a very heavy drinker and this had obliterated his liver to the point where it was failing. Over the years, all I have said to him is “Either stop drinking or I don’t want to see you” when I should have tried to help him. In the end, it was a combination of his liver failing, his kidneys failing and he had a chest infection that his body just couldn’t cope with. He also had an eating disorder that he’d had since he was young and so lay in his hospital bed, gasping for breath, he looked more like 90 than his mere 51 years of age. It was horrible and I hate myself for letting him get to that point. I had my own problems, but I should’ve been there. I feel so guilty.

Only after his passing have I now come to realise that although he was probably not the best dad in the world and he definitely wasn’t the best husband in the world, I loved him. I didn’t see him for years, throughout my whole life, but it’s only now I realise, I loved him.

I’m so sorry dad and I miss you already.

R.I.P.