It's been awhile since my last post and though I see the blog in my "favorites" I have chosen to ignore the calling for me to write few words, until today.
My father died a few years ago. I didn't find out about his passing for some months afterward. I simply asked my brother, who at the time was living next door, if he had gone to see Dad for Father's Day. He kinda hemmed and hawed and finally let it spill about Dad's death. Why, for the love of God, had he kept this from me? Was he really worried that I would show up at the funeral and make a scene? What???? Another thing...why had I not been able to sense the change? One less hurtful person on the planet should have felt different. I have always been a little sensitive to these things. Many people have arrived in my dreams to let me know just how they're doing. Should probably wig me out a little bit, but it really doesn't.
My father had esophageal cancer, but could have been laryngeal as I really don't have the details or facts. This must have been a long and arduous illness. During this time, did he want to see me? At the end, with mother at his bedside, did he ask her to call me? Did he want to make amends? In my head, it went down something like this: Mark: Mary call Teri and tell her I'm sick and I want to see her and apologize for the hell we created her first 17 years. Mary: I've tried calling her and she says she won't come. (Of course, she never called and never had any intention of calling). But this is how it plays out IN MY HEAD. I hope he wanted to make things right before leaving. Who knows. (Mary knows)
So, when people ask me about my parents, I tell them "My father is in hell and my mother is just killing time waiting to join him."
Earlier memories at the next update, hopefully tomorrow, but no promises.
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