My stepdad died about two years ago. He’d been sick for a while. I saw posts from his children on Facebook saying that he didn’t have much time left, and I actually thought about visiting. I contemplated whether I should see him one last time, get everything out that I needed to get out, give myself closure, tell him I forgive him (which might be a lie) and put that part of my life to rest, but I didn’t. I think I might have prayed for his soul just because it felt like the right thing to do. When it did finally happen, I was weirdly unaffected. It’s almost like I was trying to force myself to feel something, like I should be affected in some way, but I wasn’t. He was dead and I just didn’t care.
His children posted their tributes on Facebook about what a great dad he was and how much he’d be missed. They also posted the funeral details. Again, I thought about going, you know, the whole closure thing, but I didn’t. I thought about calling and giving them my sympathies, but I didn’t. I thought about sending flowers, or a card, or at the very least a message on Facebook, but I didn’t. Unaffected and strangely numb, I just let it go.
I think on some level I’m still angry at them. We used to be so close, but through the years as addictions took their toll, we grew apart and lost contact until social media became a thing. When my brother died, not one of them attended his funeral. We grew up together, me, my brother, and the four of them, but not one of them could make the three hour drive to his funeral. After all these years, they still continue to disappoint.
Still, I think about them often. And through it all, I still miss them. With my only sibling now gone, I hope they realize how truly lucky they are to still have each other.
November 21, 2022
The Apple and the birdcage 