|
I left home when I was fifteen years old (I joined the Army), because my father was going to kill me, and probably would have if I hadn't made a getaway. After that until the day my father died we never got along and had some serious fights. My father was a drunk and on the mean side.
My father was informed two years before his death that he was terminal, so I was fully aware that he was dying. That knowledge, combined with the fact we had never gotten along, made me think that I would not find his death disturbing.
I was wrong. When my sister called me and told me that he had passed, I was surpprised by my reaction. I was crushed.
My point to this story has something to do with what Krome was trying to say to younger ones on this board. Make your peace with your parents while you can. They will not always be here.
I don't think I have done a good job articulating my thoughts either.
|