I think I’m angry with my Dad.
I think I’ve been angry with him for a long time.
I often wondered what they meant by ‘anger being a part of grief’.
Each grief is different I think, and I am not angry that he died.
Infact, I cannot see how things would have worked out the way they did for me, had he not.
It makes me angry at myself to see that this is true.
I am angry with him for not having left in the right way.
As though there is a right way to go.
For a man who had everything in order for so long, he broke up in the end.
But I’m angry at God too, for having arranged a situation bigger than us both.
I’d have loved to know my Dad…as I’m sure he’d have loved to me.
I cannot be angry at him anymore.
I cannot be angry at myself.