SON:
You don’t get to sit there like everything’s okay. Like we’re just gonna have a normal conversation. Because it’s not okay. And it hasn’t been for a long damn time.
Where were you?
Where the hell were you when Mom got sick? When she could barely walk from the bed to the bathroom? When I had to skip class, skip work, just to make sure she ate something?
Where were you when she cried at night because she thought she was dying and didn’t want to leave me alone?
You weren’t there.
You didn’t call. You didn’t show up. Not one hospital visit. Not one late-night phone call to ask how she was doing — or how I was doing!
And then… she died.
And I had to bury her. Alone.
I held her hand while she took her last breath. I watched her go, Dad.
Not you.
Me.
You don’t get to come back now and pretend like a hug or an “I’m sorry” is going to fix this. You abandoned us. You abandoned me. When I needed a father most, you vanished.
So don’t ask me why I’m angry. Don’t ask me why I can’t just let it go.
Because I needed you. And you weren’t there.
