I sat out on the deck while Roman and the agents situated my dad into one of the guest rooms. I stared up at the cloudy sky and did my best just to breathe. It was bothering me how dark my thoughts had gotten about my father, hoping he would die in jail. I knew it was emotionally understandable, but it didn't sit right to me. No matter how cruel he had been and how awful of a father he would always be, I knew I was better than him. At the very least morally.
My thoughts and feelings were twisted and tied into a jumbled mess. Something in my gut was telling me to talk to him. Talking to him would reaffirm what it was I was supposed to feel. If he managed to be kind and showed some sort of remorse, even if it was just in the face of being charged with the crimes he committed, maybe there was some good in him. Maybe, just maybe, he would actually repent and become a better person.
