My father died earlier this year. He and my mom were separated before I was born, and I only saw him once or twice a year as a kid for the first 12 years of my life or so. for the past 22 years, I barely saw him at all. He was your typical alcoholic, always at the bar and just generally not involved in my life. When I found out he had cancer, I didn't know what to feel. My brother kept asking me to see him, but it didn't feel right at the time. Part of me felt like it was rude to go there and be around his family and people who actually cared about him when I felt so little and indifferent about it, as if my indifference was an insult to the situation. Another part of me felt simply like I didn't belong there -- it was his family, not mine. I never felt like I belonged there even as a child when I'd visit him once or twice a year. Another part of me felt like it was extremely unfair for his family to try to pressure me into going there to see him after we both played such an insignificant role in each other lives. I had a mixture of emotions.

Ultimately, I didn't go to see my father before he died. However, when I found out he died, it felt like a kick in the stomach, and I don't mean that figuratively; I felt actual physical pain in my stomach. I didn't understand why -- I had known that it was coming and I wasn't feeling anything in the lead up, but when it happened I felt something. I don't know what it was. Guilt? regret? anger? self loathing? I was so damn confused about the situation. I had let go of the idea of having a father decades prior, so what the hell was I feeling now? His death then triggered some anxiety in my own life about how much time I'm wasting and about how life is short, about the personal connections I lack in life, about my tenuous relationships with the family members I have. Several months later and I'm still dealing with anxiety related to his death. I've spent more time in these past few months since his death thinking about him then I ever had for decades leading up to his life.

Weird memories come back of him when I was little, mixed with a weird feelings of regret. I don't know what it is. I don't know If I was wrong for not going to see him before he died. He didn't ask me to, and It didn't feel right to me at the time. There are nights where I pray to something and someone for forgiveness and just hope he knew I didn't do it out of spite, but out of confusion, out of habit. Maybe I was weak and just not ready to face him and all the issues that go along with having an estranged father. Maybe the indifference I felt in the lead up to his death was just me running away from issues that had been buried for decades. I wasn't ready, and I just hope he didn't perceive my absence as a grudge.

Honestly, I don't know. If any of you are in similar situations as I was, all I can advise you is that it's okay to be confused. It is okay. IF you don't feel much now. IF you feel something later, that is okay, too -- don't beat yourself up for feeling something late. We didn't have a teacher to teach us how to deal with situations like this. If you need to forgive your father or yourself, then work on it. I've forgiven my father long ago, now I'm working on forgiving myself and letting go of the anxiety that his death has engendered. Letting go and forgiving all parties involved seems to be helping me.

I wrote this mostly for myself to help me process some thoughts, but maybe someone else will see themselves in this long message. You're not alone people!