Guilt-Complex

Today is the anniversary of my father's death. I can't help but feel guilty. I'm not sure if anyone else ever feels guilty just for being happy or not being miserable, but I feel that way all the time, especially today. I was never very close with my father, but I remember things. And it hurts to remember, it really does. It's even worse being in this house, it's haunting. Half his clothes are still in the closet with their dry-cleaning tags on. His razor is still the bathroom, but it's rusty. No one has the heart to throw even the smallest thing out, like he's going to come back and want a nice shave and a clean shirt. I feel like I'll never be happy again because if I'm happy for a second, I'm miserable for the rest of the day. And is that worth it? I'm sure some people would say yes, but I'm sure those same people just don't understand.

I wanted to go to his grave and be with him today. I wanted to keep him company, even though I know he doesn't need it. Death just seems so lonesome, and I regret not spending enough time with my father when he was alive. I regret the rules I broke, the times I let him down, whenever I said, "I hate you". I can't take anything back, though. I just wish I could tell him, and have him forgive me. I wish I could say goodbye, and have him understand. When he was dying, I had to be the strong one. Everyone was crying and miserable, I just sat with him holding his hand and waiting. I kept telling him everything was okay, that it was okay to die, even though everyone was begging him to live. I was so angry that I had to be the one pretend to be stable, even though I hurt so badly inside. Sometimes you just have to take control of those situations, though.

It's kind of sad because the last time he was conscious and could speak was on my birthday. I remember he sang me a little song and pretended to play the guitar, "seventeen, seventeen" and everyone laughed. Then he looked at my mum and said, "Lynda, am I going to die?" And she said, "yes." The next day, he was vegetative.

Well, now I feel REALLY super miserable, and I wish I hadn't gone to school and visited my father instead. Visiting him would have been the right thing to do, but I'm selfish sometimes. I feel like I could just keep going and pretend nothing happened. I want to forget, but I don't want to forget at the same time. I want to be kind of blissfully ignorant, but I love my father and want to remember everything about him, even his death. It's very confusing.

I guess I'm complaining a little too much because everyone dies. And I guess it's horrible to think "why him?," like death makes exceptions to accommodate me. I can't help it, though.