Things Do Get Better (HTTYD Modern AU)

He Was My Father

'I think, firstly, I'm obliged to say this – my dad was not perfect. We didn't have a perfect relationship. We argued, we fought, and most importantly, we always disagreed.

When I was young, in a way, I was... ashamed he was my dad. We were so different, from looks to ambitions. I could count the number of times we had talks about my possible future, but we would be here all day. I hated how he never understood how I felt and that would go on throughout the night.

My dad wasn't perfect. But... who isn't?

At the end of the day... he was there for me.

Even though it drove me up the wall how he always told me I should become a teacher because it was the 'Haddock tradition', he did it... because he cared. He wanted me to have a future that was possible for me to get. But when he finally expected that I wanted to be a engineer... he was there. He supported me to get to my goal.

When I had my accident and lost my leg, I was in such a low point. I could have gone into a deep depression. But I didn't... because he was there. He'd made sure I knew he was there. That he cared. That... that he was there. For me. He helped me get through that dark period of my life.

And that was only the beginning.

He helped me study for my GCSE, as well as for my A-level, he encouraged me to live in an apartment in order to gain confidence. He even hosted a party just before I left in celebration!

He helped me... all the way through. All on his own, with only a few helps, mainly... from Gobber.

But when I found... my mum again, things were finally looking great. A chance... to have a full family. Seeing my dad... laughing and smiling... in the arms of my mum, it... It's an image I'll never forget.

It just... breaks me that... that will forever be a memory.

It... He... Sorry... OK...

He cared. He was there. For me and for everyone. He didn't... always showed it, but... it was clear.

He... wasn't perfect. I'll be the first... to say it to anyone.

But... at the end of the day... he was my dad.

The best dad... I could ever ask for.

I don't have any regrets. Except... for one thing. That... I never... got the chance... to say three words to him. We didn't say it to each other. But I knew he felt it. He... showed it every day. And I...

Dad... if you can hear me... if you... are here...

Thank you.

Thank you... for being there... for me. And... I hope... that I... can make you... proud. That... I was never... a disappointment.

I...

I... love you, dad.

I love you so much!'

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

What you just read... was my eulogy that I written for my dad's funeral. I went off script at the end, when I started to talk to him. The tears were drenched across my face and the moment I finished, I fell onto my knees, wailing and sobbing as loud as I could. Soon, I felt my mum wrapped her arms around me. She caressed my head, whispering to my ears that it was going to be OK. Eventually, I managed to calm down enough for me to leave the front and return to my seat, so the memorial service could continue. But the tears didn't stop.

The funeral took place about a month after his death. Practically, the entire town of Berk attended. As I mentioned before, Berk is a small town where almost everyone knew each other. Everyone knew my dad... and everyone was devastated upon hearing about his death.

They all kept coming to my mum and I, expressing their deepest condolences to us. I never had so many people talk to me for any occasions. It would have felt nice for me... if it wasn't for the reason behind it.

It wasn't raining, but the clouds were dark, covering the entire sun. Except for a few breakouts of sunlight, Berk was covered with darkness. For a town that has quite a bit of colour in its surroundings, it felt alien to see everyone dressed in black, but it made me feel a bit happy how everyone dressed, with respect in mind. Even those people who would rarely wearing formal wear did (guess you could imagine how the twins dressed like).

After the main service, everyone gathered at our house, where the tributes continued. There was food and drinks provided, as well as music to soften the mood. It worked for some people; it didn't really work for me.

I stayed downstairs for about 1 hour, allowing people to give their condolences to me, but afterwards, I just stayed upstairs. I lied on my bed, with the curtains all closed and only a tableside lamp producing some light. On occasions, my mum or even Astrid would come up to check up on me. They tried to convince me to come back down, but the answer was always the same.

"I'm OK. I just want to be alone."

As I laid still on my bed, I kept thinking back to his last moment. How we were on our way to finally have the family we were missing for so long. And the last thing he did was what he always did – he was there, and he protected me.

But I couldn't protect him.

There were times I felt like it was my fault. That I was too slow to save him.

Ifeared I was going down that state of uselessness that I was in when I lost myleg. That things would never be the same again. But soon, I was reminded that was not the case.