Father.

My father was barely in my life. I remember the last time I saw him like it was yesterday. I was eight years old. He picked me up to meet the newest kid in his collection. I remember him rushing the whole time. Dropped me off at 6pm. I told him that he could keep me later, that my mom wouldn't mind. He said he didn't want to push it and that he was going to get me the following week. The following week came but he never showed.

I can see the street from my bedroom window. I sat on my windowsill and looked for his car ALL DAY. All fucking day. Everytime I saw a green minivan I got so happy. My exact thought was, 'yay, he didn't forget about me!'. I made my mom call his beeper over and over again. I made excuses. 'maybe he got busy with work'. I did the same for the next two weekends. Hour after hour, I sat there and I waited. After the third weekend that's when I stopped caring. Because that's when I realized, that's when it truly hit me, that he didn't care about me.

My mom called today to tell me that he's dying. She's upset that I'm not upset. How can I be? The man has been dead to me for years.