A Foot Note of a Life Less Known.

My father was 81 years old. He died on the 9th November 2010, in a Hospice, he had been suffering from Cancer for some small while. I mention all this for a reason, not for sympathy, no. But in the knowledge that death is amongst us all. Or so it is said.  He was a domineering Son of a Bitch.  

I was 19 years old, when I first came home from the Far East, during my time abroad in the Royal Navy, I had received several letters from my younger sister, stating her fears.

I was 15 and one half years old when I joined the Navy.  Leaving home was for me a release, a new adventure, but in truth it was an escape from my home. I couldnt wait.  

When I returned home at the age of 19 years, I re visited upon my father, the justice, so long awaited, and in a measure, commensurate with the pain he had meted out to me, my brother, and sister for years.  I was not glad at what I had done, but that which was done by me, stopped any further  actions  by him. It was then I discovered just how weak and insignificant he was. He no longer held any power over me, nor upon my siblings.  We had become free.

But today, I feel? ………Nothing. I have sympathy, yes. But for whom?  Certainly not me, and yet my brother has vested himself with the trueness of a son. He has begun to take care of his mother. For that I have respect for him. Yet he was a sufferer at his fathers hands? I am puzzled. Did my Mother know? But since she has had  three strokes in her life, the question can not be asked. As the answer could not be understood.

I became a human after I left home, and as such felt the need to spread my wings in all directions, some good some not so good! But whatever the task, I  felt  a part of that collective effort to succeed.

I served with the Marines in several areas of agitation, and found that while friends came and went, comrades stayed comrades. That bond of trust, tangible, not spoken and not felt outside  the area of severest intensity.

I have,  since that day of retribution, and  to the day of his death, never spoken to my father, now there is a statement of fact!  You might find that surprising, but I am unable to illucidate, as it would  involve the feelings of others to whom I owe privacy. 

He has died, and I have lost the very thing that made me so strong mentally, the very thing that caused me to seek another life.  If the truth be known, I am not sorry, not sad at all. He was my father, that is true. But I didnt know him, nor did I wish to.

I became a better person, the day I left home, all those years ago. I shall not go to the funeral, nor shall I mourn,  it is as though a weight has left my soul, and that is a good thing. I hold no guilt, nor do I feel that loss.