Sometimes — in my case with my Dad — it’s a relief that you can just “Call It”. The relationship is over. You knew on some level instinctively all your life it was fucked up — ‘resolution’ was never gonna be a thing and now at last it’s just done.
When my father died and they brought his body up from Florida to be buried next to my mother — I asked the funeral director if he was sure it was really my father. You know? Hey -it’s happened!
My-husband-at-the-time was really shocked I asked the question. But a part of me really really needed that information and until someone had confirmed for me that Yes — this body in the basement is really your old man — I couldn’t exhale.
But I never cried for the man — except tears of relief for both of us. He was free now from what ever demons held him and I was free of having to deal with him/them. As well as having to shelter my children from them. Because after I had kids — who my father was became simply someone whose poison I had to keep away from my children.
To this day — I often have to remind myself that there are people in the world out there who are close to their fathers, who have loving relationships with the men in their worlds. People who openly mourn the loss of their fathers for decades. People who feel a void — not a relief in their world at the loss.
Not me. My life got better — less complicated — easier — happier the day my father died.
And I’ve never felt an ounce of guilt about that. Because Fuck what everyone else would do.