My mom and I were talking about my dad’s dad’s family and the last week of Dadada’s life. I didn’t know that they (Dadada’s family) had used up all the money in his bank account in that one week until after Aunt Judy accused my parents and me of perpetrating horrible abuses against Dadada prior to him living in Prattville for that last week of his life. Keep in mind that I was twelve when he died and that we were the people who would actually prepare his foods properly (no salt, no sugar, etc.), give him his medicines, get him to the doctor, get him to the hospital, etc. Basically, we didn’t abuse him and there was no real way for me specifically to abuse him. She just lived in some la-la world where everyone except for her is a bad person. She’d be a great friend for that other aunt of mine.
Anyway, mom and I discussed how Betty Ann was probably asleep while Dadada was dying and didn’t hear him. When his congestive heart failure would get bad, he would scream and holler and cry out that he was dying and couldn’t breathe. He could get extremely loud, so it is hard for me to imagine that she wouldn’t have heard him. While mom and I discussed this, I realized that I didn’t feel sorry for him. I didn’t feel bad that this man may have had died an excruciating death.
For all my talk of forgiving him, of saying that I’m trying to move past the things he did to me and to my family, I realized that I still have a hell of a lot of anger towards this man. I still see him as this beast that ruined not only my childhood, but my life. I still, at my very core, hate him. And I feel like somehow it makes me a bad person to hate him.
Is it okay to hate someone who abuses you or people you love? Does that make me as bad as them? Aren’t I supposed to realize that there had to be some catalyst that made him like he was, and isn’t that supposed to make me feel some sort of overwhelming compassion towards this man?
Maybe one day I can feel compassion towards him, but I’m starting to think that that will never happen.