I’ve been thinking a lot about death recently.
With Bob passing away in January I often find myself thinking that I should feel more than I do. The sad fact is that he was out of my life for much more than he was in it, so with him now gone I don’t really notice the difference. Maybe being removed from the situation (a good 300 miles removed) has allowed me not to get hung up on everyone else’s grief and feelings. Maybe once I travel home and visit his grave I will feel differently… but then maybe I won’t.
How am I suppose to feel about a man who was so clearly more interested in where his next pint was coming from than his daughter and her life?
Some thoughts are however more clear to me…
My decision not to jump in my car and drive 6 hours to rush to he bedside – I stick by
My decision not to attend his funeral, for both not wanting to see THAT side of the family and for not wanting to look like a hypocrite – I stick by
My anger that he is buried next to my older brother despite him not bothering himself to help look after his grave and visiting – I stick by
There is one thing I regret…
I regret going to visit him last summer, for ending our relationship on an argument. Don’t get me wrong it was helpful to day some of the things I’d bottled up for years but nobody wants to remember their last conversation with someone as an argument.
There are questions unanswered…
Why did he chose to drink?
Why did he chose drink over his family?
How he felt knowing that my children will never know that he was their Grandad?
I guess I’m still trying to get my head around the situation, maybe it would have been better to get a phonecall out of the blue to say that he had passed away. That way I wouldn’t have had to feel the disappointment of him letting me down once again.