In January of last year, I left where I was living to move back to my hometown to help out with my dad whom everyone thought had Alzheimer's. He was getting worse by the day and my mother was finding it harder and harder to handle him. Shortly after I arrived, he ended up in the hospital when his blood count dropped, and that's when we discovered he had advanced lung cancer. He died about two weeks later.
His death really took a toll on my family, but not the way it does most families. We're not exactly what you would call a close family, so there was none of the usual comforting of one another that normally happens; it was more like utter chaos. The animosity, arguing and back-stabbing was out of control. Even though I pretty much expected all this, it was still very hard to go through. This was the reason I had moved away all those years ago.
None of us were close to my dad, and he wasn't what you would call a good dad. The word "hate" had been used concerning him on more than one occasion, speaking to the extreme abuse we had all suffered at his hands as children. And yet, I watched as my whole family literally fell apart after he died. One of my brothers found himself crying and couldn't understand why he was crying because, as he said, he hated him. Emotions were out of control and everyone was lashing out at each other. Any hope I might have ever had of something like this bringing us together at long last, was dashed to pieces. I was looking at the fruit of what my father had sown over the years.
I often think of my brother crying that day and how he couldn't understand why in the world he was crying. I really believe his tears were for the dad he never had. I think he always kept some form of hope deep down inside that maybe someday our dad would look at him and say he was proud of him. He never did.
It has now been well over a year since my dad died. My family is hopelessly torn apart, worse than they've ever been. All I can do is pray for them because I know the only thing that will ever heal this family is forgiveness. A lack of forgiveness is like a cancer, eating away at a person's heart and soul, breeding only hate and resentment that has nowhere to go. Most always it's eventually unleashed on the innocent, which is evident within my own family.
When I think of my father I wonder if he ever had any idea how his actions served to destroy so many lives. If he was even remotely aware, he had to have been a very evil person. I don't want to believe that, but even if it's true, I cannot live my life filled with the anger and resentment that has taken such a hold of my family. To me, that's even worse than any of the abuse any of us ever suffered.
I forgive you, dad. Rest in peace.