Mom has been cleaning out the study since before we left. These few days she’s found a hoard of things I made for her and dad. Birthday cards, mother’s and father’s days cards, drawings. She said that looking through them, she couldn’t help but weep. She said she gave the box of things I made for dad to him. She told him to look at it. I think looking at it made him feel pretty bad. Maybe looking at it now, compared to then, suddenly made him realize what he fucked up. I don’t think he ever really appreciated anything I made him growing up. Anything I wrote or drew for him he treated like a chore to look at.
Anyways- I think the guilt is what made him pay for mom’s flight over here. She mentioned that she was worried about me, and I guess he is too after seeing all that. People say it’s never too late, but I think it is. He realized too late what it meant for us to love him. He realized too late that what he did destroyed what we had.
I love the dad I thought I had, but I guess it’s like loving God. It’s just a concept.