We left the hospital shortly after he died. I felt things I couldn't explain.
"You going home or you want to come with us?" my sister asked looking at me through the mirror.
"I want to go with you guys" I replied. We drove in silence for a while. My sister pulled into the 7/11 and my siblings got out. "Want anything?" my brother asked.
"Yeah, a pack of newports and something fruity" I reached in my wallet and took out the money to give to him through the window. I knew I shouldn't drink. I was just a year and some odd months sober. None of them knew about my addiction. I tried my best to hide it. I know if they knew I was in recovery they wouldn't have gotten me anything and would've dropped me off at home. I wanted the racing thoughts to end. The only way that would happen is if I drank.
They all piled back in the car and drove to my fathers apartment. This would be the first time I went inside. Penguins and owls covered the shelves. My father loved penguins and I thought they were freaks of nature. Unnatural birds. I hated the way they sounded and looked. He loved them.
"Here" my brother handed me the can of alcohol. We all sat around different places of the one bedroom apartment. Eyes were red from crying, we all looked a little older. My sister put on some of our fathers favorite songs and we all started opening our drinks and lit our smokes. I kept quiet until I felt my weight lift. I apologized to everyone I hurt in the past. Especially my one sister when I called all the ones who I shared a last name with illiterate. I was an angry teen. No excuse I was an asshole.
We sat and listened to the music and I opened another drink. All I wanted to do is forget the images in my head. I didnt want to feel anything. My brothers friends came to give their condoleces. My father loved them. Treated them like they were his own. I hated them for it. I felt bad for feeling the way I did but the man couldnt be my father but he could be a father to everyone else? How in the fuck does that make sense?! I smiled and said " He loved all of you and spoke so highly of you" he did. I was the one he talked shit about.
It was getting late but I didn't care. I was numb and singing. "Kat its time to get you home to your babies" my sisters words slapped the shit out of me. My kids, I was too busy being selfish to not just go home after the man who could give a fuck less about me died. I think part of me used his death as an excuse to relaspe. I missed the feeling. They dropped me off and I went up the stairs and cried holding one of my dads penguins that I didn't remember I even had.
I woke up to a huge headache and 50 missed calls from my mother asking me 110 questions and telling me how if she would've went he would still be alive. I rolled over and fell back asleep. I didn't want to deal with anything. The hangover was brutal. I couldn't move without the room spinning. I hated myself that I did this. I worked so hard to get sober, to get my kids back, and I jeaprodized it for a man who drank because he couldnt stay faithful in his marriages and couldn't accept he messed up as a father.
I was just like my father in more ways I'd ever admit to. I drank and blamed everyone else why my life was shit. Difference was I took accountability for my shit later on in my life, he never did. He always had an excuse. I use to be like that until I lost my kids. Then I realize I was repeating the cycle. I swore I wouldn't drink again that I would stay sober. I barely spoke to anyone.
Everytime I was reminded he was dead I would break down. He never answered to his actions. He will never take accountability for leaving me with a pedophile. He will never take a DNA test to prove I was his daughter. The last one hit the hardest. I knew since I met him he denied me. Never to my face but to everyone else in his family. I knew it but no one said a word. That is until his funeral.