Daddy called today. Blech. Put a damper on the whole damn day. Seems the cancer has gone into his tiny, insignificant, ignorant, imbicilic brain and he's going to die. Boo hoo. We're all going to die. He's going to die soon.
"Take it like a man, asshole"
But those are his words, from a long long time ago. He wants me to call him back. He wants to visit sometime. Maybe he has come to the end of his life and thinks he made a bad decision ten years ago. Personally, I'm glad he left. I was, and still am, proud of my mother for throwing that bastard out of the house.
Maybe.
Maybe he has changed. Maybe he won't be his abusive, stupid, flatulent self. Perhaps he won't throw anything or call me any of those nasty names. Maybe he won't cry and scream and be crazy.
It'll probably be good for me to meet with him. I've not seen him in six years. I don't want to see him now, but if I do, maybe I'll understand some of the rage buried deep inside. Perhaps it will be a chance to heal.
Bleh.
So much for enjoying the next few weeks, or getting anything done today. I've still got a terrible sense fo guilt about the entire situation. She gave him an ultimatum, "Either try to make Michael a part of your life, or leave." And he chose to leave. Never said a word to me as he moved out. Just left.
I don't want to deal with any of it again. He was abusive and evil. Then he left, and I somehow felt that it was my fault. I was miserable for a very long time. Why experience any of that again.