My dad was an alcoholic and he was depressed, had no money, had no job. About the things he had, it was his siblings whom I hate for constantly making him upset, visiting him and reminding him that he won't inherit anything because he sucks and their mom (meaning, my grandma) doesn't like my mom (and his ex-wife) nor she doesn't like me because I've never been a toady. I never wanted to be. But I think I overdid it. It made me forget that being a good daughter doesn't mean being toady. I should talk with him more. I should do something. At least try talking. The problem is, we never were too close and never talked about anything serious. I loved him because he was my father, but... I don't know how to say it. After funeral, I was shocked twice as much: first, naturally, because of his death, imagining his suffering and loneliness; next, because I realized how little I knew about him and that I'll never be able to know more. That's why I can't stand when someone starts talking about him when I'm around. I avoid the topic.
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1 Response Jul 17, 2010

..toady? what?