Our Father, Who Aren’t In Heaven…

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If you had asked 6 months ago if I had forgiven my father, I probably would have said yes. I thought I was done with all that.

It appears I was not.

I’m pissed that he never acknowledged his behavior and its effect on his family. I’m pissed that he never grew as a human being to a point where I could have a relationship with him that wasn’t toxic. I’m pissed that the universe gave me such a shit deal in the father department, and that it will never get any better, because he’s gone.

Never once did he ask me to forgive him. I honestly don’t know if he saw anything he did as wrong. I don’t know if there was a hint of true remorse in his soul. I’m sure he felt bad that his children basically disowned him, but did he ever truly recognize why? I’ll never know.

I don’t know if he believed in any kind of afterlife. (To be fair, I question that one myself.) But I hope that his higher self recognizes what a tragedy his life was, and how much of it was self-inflicted. I admit, I want the bastard to suffer. But not generic suffering. Suffering borne of true understanding of what his actions did to those who loved him.

I seem to be alone in my anger over his death. Most of the system is truly sad, the kids especially. Me? I question if we’d even be a system if it wasn’t for him.

And yeah, I’m starting to dissociate pretty heavily, so I’m going to post this while I can. It’s been kind of a revolving door here in T-E-C land the past few days.

#anger #forgiveness #death

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