My Father died last week. We hadn't been close because my Mother tried to keep him out of my life for her own selfish reasons. You know, he chose someone else over her, so she used me as a weapon against him. It makes me sad to think of all the presents and cards he sent to me and my Mother destroying them and then sending them back. She did that a lot, I would come to find out later. She was vicious. Once I was old enough I set out to talk to him despite her warnings. We talked, wrote to one another, mostly on holidays and birthdays. When I moved to Kentucky when Raven was 8 months old I called him and asked him out to lunch. We talked for hours and he played with Raven. It was nice. I felt lucky to have two men to call Dad. I was very close with my Stepfather. He protected us as best he could from our crazy Mother. He was great, he is great. He encouraged me to have a relationship with my Dad, and so I did. I'm grateful for what little was I able to have in such a short amount of time. Do I blame my Mother? Yes. Am I still angry with her for keeping us apart for so long. A little. I just found out on Friday that he died, she knew last Tuesday, but didn't tell me. Probably to keep me from going to the funeral. Doesn't matter anymore. I'm lucky to have had a Dad who loved me enough to fight to be a part of my life. That is all that matters.
Life goes on and I have to learn to let go of all the bitterness towards my Mother. By doing that I separate myself from her. I will not be like my Mother and hold on to angry for years and years. That's pathetic. I will hold tight to my fondest memories of my Dad, and I'll never let go.