I won't mourn your death

I feel like a horrible person. I am in a waiting room at a hospital, hoping that my father dies on the table while having open heart surgery. Why? Most people who know him would say he was a stand-up guy. He provided for us, gave us things we needed and things we wanted. We had quality education, a car to drive, vacations every year. But I hate him on a level I cannot verbalize well.

That man, laying on that table, with his heart in the hands of surgeon, did not care for me in the way that really mattered. He holds secrets to my past he will not share. He left me to be devoured by wolves. He stood by while people profited from using my body. His provisions meant nothing to a girl whose body and mind were ravaged. His continued existence on this earth is a reminder of the lack of nurturing I had. His every breath is a continued link to my past. Yes, I want him to die. I want to be free of his grip. I want to release the ties of loyalty that keep me bound to him.

If he dies today, he dies with his children in his last vision. That is a luxury he doesn’t deserve. Yet here we are. Here we are making him feel better. Here we are giving comfort to a man who provided none. If this is his last day, I want him to be thinking about what he could have done better. I don’t want him thinking he is surrounded by love and adoration. But that is what he will think. That is the kind of man he is. 

So, does it make me a horrible person? I don’t care. It’s how I feel. I have a right to how I feel and that is ok. I won’t kill the man who betrayed me, but I can wish he was no longer here. And I will celebrate when he is gone.

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