There Is No Letting Go
I never imagined I would ever miss him this much. We had a rocky life together. We were so much alike that we basically clashed and held a strong dislike for the other. At one point in my life, I worried that I hated him. And I often felt certain that he hated me. It was all emotional and all consuming, though in the moment I did not realize the extent. Hindsight is 20/20. I was never his little girl, I think I ruined that as soon as I learned to talk fluently. And learning to talk led to learning to yell, which I did a lot of - mostly directed at him. He would breathe wrong and I would yell. The world would breathe wrong and I would yell, at him. It was all his fault anyways, he was the reason why I was genetically made the way I was made. I inherited every aspect of this man. And I don't think I often let him forget that. I never once thought of how all of this was from his side of the fence. I only think of that now - a year after his life is all said and done, with so many things left unsaid and undone. My regrets are aplenty, but I have a feeling my father feels the same. We were both cowards. The end of his life came and we had time, we had so much time to say something. We said nothing. 23 years of life and all I get is one deathbed I love you. It does not hold enough weight, it does not change much except the fact that I know it could have been just that much worse - he could have not said it at all. That is one sad memory that I will cherish for eternity. But it kills me to think of how easily things could have been so much different. With one short discussion my life could have been altered and I could be okay right now. I knew it needed to be done, even without every one telling me that I need to hurry up and do it before it's too late. You know what though, he was the adult in this situation. He should have been the one to fix this broken life, and everyone should have been pressuring Him to say something before it's too late. But of course, if they did that then they would have been confirming to him and/or themselves that he was in fact going to die. I sometimes think that I was the only one who did not really accept or understand the fact that he really would die. The idea of mortality was wasted on me. And now I'm left here, alone in a world that my father and I created. A world of which I know he understood. We shared the same perspective; we were one and the same. It kills me to think of how I could have utilized him throughout life - him who shared the same mental afflictions and truly saw life in the same grey color as I did. But now I just miss him, deeply.