Spoke to my father yesterday and he told me that he’s living a terrible life. That he chooses not to kill himself so that he suffers until the day he dies. As if to make himself a valiant hero that he is taking it all instead of killing himself.

Granted I did feel a certain type of way when he told me he suffers more than me on a daily basis, but I’ll give that to him because he’s old and I’ve done a substantial level of healing with long ways to go. I hate that he says a lot of his life is blurred because of his alcoholism but it’s true and I know how terrible of a disease that can be on a biological level. It still hurts though.

He’s dying alone in a building where most people have Death as their last visitor after years of silent nights alone with their thoughts. He has a few teeth left, multiple health conditions, and I won’t lie that I smiled when he implied I was torturing him by not forgiving him (I thought I had up until that point last night but I told him I wasn’t ready).

To hear the tremors in his voice and to realize he will be taken from this life was reassuring. Nothing lasts forever. Not this suffering, not any pain, not any joy. And yet for reasons I can’t explain I feel for him. After all, my heart is still half his. I’ll forever be half of my father and it both hurts and helps to consider he will die alone as his penance. I am half him. half him. Solely me and unlike him I feel sorrow for the pain he is in. I want to set him free for me.