Rest in Peace, Daddy.

My mother and I left my father's house when I was 13 years old. We lived with my sister for three months until we were able to get on our feet and get our own place. My dad wasn't a horrible person, but he was a horrible drinker.  For the past ten years I have tried my hardest to keep my distance from him and avoid all contact with him. On Saturday, February 6, 2010 he passed away. Now, I regret with all my heart not at least talking with him.

We got the call from my cousin, since my mother is still legally married to him, she had to meet with the funeral director and take care of things like that. We went back to his house - my childhood home- and I was flooded with a million and one feelings. The house was so different, yet there were still things that remained the same for 10 years. My father had upgraded to some new fancy technology. A huge flatscreen tv, a laptop computer and some new nicer furnature. Most of the kitchen remained the same, except for the fact that he began a cooking hobby and now owned every single cooking appliance the home shopping network had to offer. His office is now a cluttered mess of statements and paperwork. As a child, I was never alloud in that room, it was kept perfect for him to pay his bills, neatly and orderly. His basement full of tools was also turned into a jungle of random boxes, clothes, and projects begun but never completed. My bedroom was turned into a storage room - the treadmill we never used, old furnature, and even some of my  toys still sat in the closet.

I wish I talked to him, at least once. I should have told him I loved him, at least one last time. The past few days I've done a lot of thinking. The the thing is, I was hurt. He had promised a change that never came and as a 13 year old girl, it hurt so bad to be let down by my daddy. A few days before we left his house, he told me I wasn't his trister (his nickname for me) anymore, however my aunts (his sisters) told me that he still referred to me as trister, even after all these years of me ignoring him.

So why did I never speak to him? Well, I did once. Not long after I graduated high school he called to talk to me. We talked for maybe 10 minutes and it made me so sad. I guess I was still just the same hurt little girl that couldn't believe in her daddy. But his death taught me something. I didn't have to believe in him, I just should have been his friend, at least. No, we probably never would have had a perfect father-daughter relationship, but we could have at least been friends. He would have loved Jayden. Well, he did love him, but he would have loved him even more if he had met him.

And now my chance to make things right is gone. I should have known better. He was never the picture of health. He had three heart attacks while we lived with him, he was diabetic and lost some toes, and despite those conditions, he still drank and smoked. His cause of death was pnemonia. I guess he's been sick since Thanksgiving, but was too stubborn to go to a hospital. He just let it kill him.

My mother and I get to keep his things, and it hurts going there to take them out. I don't feel I deserve anything, but I know he would rather me have it than someone else. His house will go to my aunt. I wish we could have lived there, but it probably wouldn't have worked out anyways.

For anyone who reads this, if there is just one lesson you could ever learn from a blog, don't hold grudges. Don't keep your feelings from someone becuase your afraid it might hurt you. My father died thinking that his only child hated him. I think I hurt him way worse than a phone call would have hurt me. If you love someone, make sure they know it.