My Dad would have been 50 this year. There would have been balloons and grim reapers everywhere. He could have been half a century old today, but he isn't.
For those who don't know, my Dad took his life in 2000. He was 38 when he died. He left behind myself, and my brother Robbie, and a stepson, my brother Jamie.
I thought as the years went by it would get easier, but it seems that they are getting harder. It seems to hurt more each year and this year seems to be hardest and I'm not sure why. He's been gone almost 12 years now, and it's still painful sometimes. I'm not sure why either, it isn't like we were really close before he died, we had actually drifted further apart. I was growing up and he seemed to be closing himself off more and more, slowly going into himself. He had a lot of mental problems that I usually don't talk about, but I know they were true, because I read the paperwork myself. I'm not sure how much my brother knows. He was a Daddy's boy through and through. I wasn't. I have always been Mommy's little girl and always will.
But with all this said, I don't know why it hurts so much this year. It shouldn't hurt as bad as it does, considering we weren't close.
I guess I feel more anger than anything. I am angry that he chose the easy the way out instead of sticking out and watching his kids grow up. I don't know anymore, I don't know how I feel about it all or about him anymore.
25 years old, and I am still angry with Dad. Go figure.
Well, this is all for today. I need to get to my workout and get some things around the house done today.
Til next time,
Remember the small things in life, because one day, too soon most times, they won't be there anymore.
