My father and I have never been close. He left my mother and I when I was only three years old, and never kept in contact with us.
I often wondered why he would abandon us, but I never got a chance to ask him.
As I grew older, I started to resent my father for not being there for me, and for not having the chance to watch me grow up.
It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I finally had the courage to reach out to my father. I sent him a letter, telling him about my life and asking him why he left us.
Surprisingly, he replied to my letter and we started to communicate through emails.
At first, I thought this would be the beginning of a relationship between us. I was wrong. After a few emails, he stopped replying and I never heard from him again.
I was disappointed that my father was still unwilling to build a relationship with me, but I was determined to not let it affect me.
Years passed and I eventually forgot about my father. But, one day, I received a call from a hospital.
The voice on the other end of the line told me that my father was in the hospital and that he was in critical condition. I was shocked and didn’t know what to do.
At that moment, I felt a wave of emotions: sadness, anger, and guilt. I was sad that my father was in the hospital.
I was angry that he had never tried to build a relationship with me.
In the end, I decided not to go and see him in the hospital.
I told myself that if he died, I would not go to his funeral. I know it sounds harsh, but I felt like that was the only way I could take control of the situation.
The hospital called me a few days later and told me that my father had passed away.
I was sad, but I was not surprised. I was relieved that I had made the decision to not go and see him in the hospital, and I knew it was the right decision for me.
My father’s death brought me some closure. I had accepted that he was never going to be a part of my life, and I was finally able to move on.