I lost my father today.

It wasn't completely unexpected; he's been under care for years now, in bad health. Chronic illness and hepatitis, plus some major liver problems. However, this week his health took a nosedive and he quickly deteriorated. He lives in Florida, and I'm in Georgia, and we didn't have the greatest relationship for the last few years.

When I was little, I was a daddy's girl. We were inseparable. My parents got a divorce and we moved to a different state, and over time I saw him less and less. Twice a year, once a year, etc. The hatred between my parents made staying with him difficult. He was constantly bad mouthing my mother, telling me she was keeping me from him. I eventually stopped going down to visit him. It was too much. We still talked on the phone occasionally.

About six years ago, all communication ceased. The distance and bad blood between my family caused me too much grief. Two years later, I sucked it up and called him. We talked pleasantly for a while, until he started accusing me of only contacting him to get to my recently deceased grandmother's inheritance. I decided to cut off all communication, incredibly hurt by that. We didn't speak for nearly four years. Still, I kept loose contact with his sister and my cousins.

This morning I got a text from my cousin telling me my father was close to dying. He'd been in critical condition for a week, and they told them they didn't think he'd make it another day. The only thing keeping him alive were breathing tubes and blood pressure medicine. He was unresponsive. I didn't even get the option to go down and see him. They had known for a week that his health was very bad, they knew. They didn't tell his only child. I know I should have been in his life, but I feel incredibly bitter because I didn't even get to go see him. There was no time.

He was unresponsive. The breathing tubes kept him from talking. I would never hear my father's voice again. If I had known all those years ago... I called his room and asked the nurse to put the phone to his ear. Maybe he could hear me. Maybe my voice reached him. I told him all the things I never got to, the things he missed. I had a beautiful baby, a son that looks just like me, a husband that he would be proud to call his son in law, a wonderful home, and I was a nursing student (but I was still going to pursue art one day, as he always encouraged me to do). Maybe he heard me. I hope he did.

After my call, they took him off the medication. They said he went quickly.

He died alone. None of his family came to visit, even though they knew. He died alone and that makes me so sad I can't even think about it properly. I'm incredibly stunned. I've been eating thoughtlessly; we have friends over and there's so much alcohol and I don't care to stop.

I'm putting this here because any positive words help. Because MFP has always helped me through tough times, and because I know there are many others who can share my pain. Thanks for listening.