It's strange how death has turned me into such a huge hypocrite...

I didn't like my father, he was a "domestic terrorist" that would strike when we expected it the least. There was no safety in our home when I was growing up and he even managed to make my life hell after I had moved away from home. After riding the emotional roller-coaster for years I finally realized that the best way to get back at him was to stop caring. Instead of giving him power over me I took it away from him and he didn't like the change. He'd try to stir things up and cause me pain but I didn't care any more and he'd end up pouting like a kid because I wouldn't play his games any more.

His death makes me think that there is some sort of universal justice after all.

So there I am, thinking it's great that the grumpy old bastard is finally gone, but do I say it or express it? No. I even pretend to mourn the loss. I haven't cried a tear for him but I've pretended to, while hiding my dry eyes by looking down or covering them with a handkerchief. People outside of the family has never known what kind of person he really was and I've agreed with them when they have talked about what a good and kind man he was and how important it is for him to get a proper and worthy funeral. In reality I couldn't care less about what happened to the mean old shit and if I had been the only family member alive I wouldn't have bothered with a funeral. Every little thing I've said and done since his death feels like a lie, it's sickening but I keep telling myself that I'm doing it for my mother. Is it really so? Of course not, even my mother talks about what kind of man he really was. I'm a person that has always been proud to go my own way and stand up for my opinion but now I'm actually worried about what people will think of me if I tell the truth about things. Shame, shame, shame on me...

The three most important men in my life are still struggling to live. My father was never one of them and I hope that his death is a sign that the others will live. It's a childish hope, there is no such thing as one life being taken to spare another, but I cling on to it because childish hope is all I have at this point.