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happy father's day :(
My dad has been gone for almost eight years now. A lot has happened to me in that time, and I'm sad that my father never saw me get out of my abusive marriage (he hated Jerry) and that he never met my youngest son (I was pregnant with Zach when Dad died).
I wish I had the energy to make a post about PTSD and how it's affected my life and my father's life. I wish I could make a post about slow suicide and watching my father suffer. I wish I could make a post about what it was like to decide to take my father off machines that were keeping him alive after a multi-system failure. I wish I could write about it, but I can't.
He died when he was fifty-five. He was a disabled Vietnam vet. He was married twice and had five children. He had black curly hair and blue eyes. He liked the outdoors and was a trapper. He was an alcoholic and a drug addict. He could do anything with his hands, but could barely read. He taught me how to shoot a gun when I was five. He taught me how to skin an animal when I was six. He thought I could do anything, and was disappointed when I didn't go to college.
My dad was a lot of terrible things and a lot of wonderful things. He beat me, he hugged me, and he ignored me. A lot of my fucked up-ness is because of him. But he was my father, and I loved him so much. I miss him. I wish he had gotten help instead of killing himself.
I hope he's in a better place now.
I wish I had the energy to make a post about PTSD and how it's affected my life and my father's life. I wish I could make a post about slow suicide and watching my father suffer. I wish I could make a post about what it was like to decide to take my father off machines that were keeping him alive after a multi-system failure. I wish I could write about it, but I can't.
He died when he was fifty-five. He was a disabled Vietnam vet. He was married twice and had five children. He had black curly hair and blue eyes. He liked the outdoors and was a trapper. He was an alcoholic and a drug addict. He could do anything with his hands, but could barely read. He taught me how to shoot a gun when I was five. He taught me how to skin an animal when I was six. He thought I could do anything, and was disappointed when I didn't go to college.
My dad was a lot of terrible things and a lot of wonderful things. He beat me, he hugged me, and he ignored me. A lot of my fucked up-ness is because of him. But he was my father, and I loved him so much. I miss him. I wish he had gotten help instead of killing himself.
I hope he's in a better place now.
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Hugs.
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