Today is my father's death anniversary. I still don't understand why it's called an anniversary. What exactly are we celebrating? I mean why do we need a constant reminder that he died in a place where his children weren't allowed to visit him. I'm sure he felt lonely in his last moments. All the old man wanted most was to have all his kids under one room, but most of us where to busy slaving ourselves in books.
I miss the old man, I really do, I don't even deserve to miss him. I didn't deserve his love. All I ever did was complain and point out all the things he didn't do instead of appreciating all the things he did do. I am not worthy to be called his daughter. I got caught up in my mother's hate for what he did to her. I tried to stay out of their quarrel, I tried to be Switzerland, but I couldn't, I didn't mind my business. How could I when my name was used in most of their arguments?
It's been a rough year not being able to say dad, call him in the middle of the night and tell him how I am really feeling without being judged or feel like a patient. Or just hearing how his day was at work, watching soapies and rambling about the future. What I hated most in the year was people randomly calling and texting "how are you holding up". I mean yes, their hearts may be in the right place, but sometimes a person just wants to be left alone. Those few words are a trigger to a few and breaking down in front of an audience is not ideal, we want to let our pain out in the comfort of our room. But sometimes a random warm hug can go a long way instead of the 24 questions on the hotline.
