My parents disowned me when I was 17 because I had a bastard child. It was the final straw for them in a hell teen escapade. They washed their hands of me and were done.
I had contact here and there over the years. Mainly me initiating trying to get back in their good graces, only to have it very obvious they were not interested.
Last year I found out my mother died… two years ago.
Today I had to call my father to get information for my birth certificate application. He called me back. We spent twenty minutes on the phone, catching up. He told me all about his struggles with cancer. We shared some words about parenting with what we have. There was a lot unspoken, but understood. It ended well.
How do I feel? Numb. Teary.
He’s dying. Slowly. Of cancer in his kidney. And it’s really over between us. We talked amicably, and friendly even. But not as a father and daughter. I mourn for the years of mourning I did. I mourn for the dying man. I mourn for… I don’t even know.
I’m not completely fucked up and traumatized, but I do find myself to be incredibly sad. I thought maybe coming here and typing it out my fingertips might help, but I am actually finding myself at a loss for words. I don’t think I really know what I feel or why.
So with that, I will stop here.