The funeral has been and went and it was, in general, a really shitty day. Hated every minute of it, from waking up to getting in the car to driving to the fake smiles and sympathies of distant relatives. The man they buried was not the man I knew. This loving, fun, caring— wait, are we talking about the same arsehole? I think not!
I spent the day getting angrier and angrier. Every time someone asked me ‘are you alright’ and I replied ‘as well as can be expected’ I wanted to say, ‘I’m fine! THANK YOU FOR ASKING! Get me the hell out of here.’
I didn’t want to be there. I had accepted the loss of my Father many years before, and seeing these people falling over themselves to sing to high heaven how wonderful he was made me feel a little bit queazy. This was a man who abandoned his children and beat his wife. Not exactly ‘heaven material’, if you know what I mean…
I’ve avoided writing anything about this on here until now. And I have decided I don’t want to let ‘my dad is dead, and an asshole’ to become the blog theme. So this is the last I’m going to say on the subject.
It’s over. Done. Finished.