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It wasn't always a difficult relationship you know, me and my father. We had good times. You know how they used to ask who's your favourite , mummy or daddy and you'd answer both because you love them both so much you don't want to hurt either? But the kid me knew it was definitely my father. With time, we saw the man grow into something he was not. Alcohol does that to a man. Irresponsible. Selfish. But he wasn't, he wasn't selfish when he wasn't drinking, he was kind, loving and even used to cry watching a sad film. But maybe it was the drinking that became more closer to his heart than his family. Alcohol does that to a man, make him feel like the king and that you can treat everyone around you like mere ants. Crush them with your manhood, and when they revolt you crush them more. Eventually the ants forget to fly. But we weren't ants Sherl, we were living breathing humans watching the man we loved decaying everyday , rotting everyday. You often ask yourself, was it your fault ? Are you the reason he changed so drastically to the point of no return ? Was it your daily needs that burdened him so much that they were frustrated enough to take up alcohol? Is it my fault? And you know what, this question doesn't stop haunting you even after the man has died. You always blame yourself, maybe you could have done better, said better, but the truth is he could've done better as well. Deep down you know it, but convincing yourself that is another kind of guilt you understanding that? Guilt of blaming the dead. He is gone and you are still pathetic enough to blame him!? But then you are angry , so angry because when he was alive you never saw the face of money but when he is gone you are notified that he had taken loan the week before he had died, but there's no trace of money in your bank account. You pay the whole from your very little first salary from a part time job , and from what left of the family savings that would have kept the family running for hardly an year. And when you finally pay your debts and relax , right after that another one pops up with a loan amount twice the first one. Now tell me Sherlock what i could have done ? I know I wanted to run, but similarly I wanted to be there for my family, me being the only bread earner left, how could I have not? But I really didn't know how to!? How to pay the money I didn't have? I told them I won't pay. And every night I couldn't sleep because I was scared that the next day they'd take me to jail because I refused to pay the money.
Those were the days were I felt weakest . Knowing that I may have to spend the next morning in custody getting accused as fraud (for the money which I never held with my bare hands) who will feed my family then ? I was not ready for that, and even though I had known it had to be me if time come, not mum, not Harry just me. I am the bread earner after all. But I wasn't supposed to be , we were his responsibilities, and he died drinking.
I remember the day, him lying flat , eyes red and white open, I felt nothing. I asked him to not die. To please get up and talk to me. I understood that I lost the person I once loved the most. But then I felt nothing. Not nothing. I don't know. I acted like a robot you know. Doing all the right things. Cleaning his room, sorting his clothes, kissing him on his forehead because I won't be able to again. But I wasn't feeling, wasn't crying. Maybe it was that one fly on his body that I saw while they were taking him to the hospital, maybe I had known it for a longer time that he is gone before they declared may be I don't know. I wish I had you to figure me out then. To hold me. You would have known the right things to say to me Sherlock. You always know. I wish I had known you that time.
There's this belief that he was all bad and abusive , but he wasn't like that everytime. We had lovely moments. He used to sing played guitar, and as a kid I'd always say I'd marry someone who'd play guitar like my father. It was my dream to open him a music studio or do something for his music when I had money , but I was never given the time, because he had to drink and drug his way out. Selfish. Irresponsible.
And you know why I am mad, because I still love that man who I had thought I had managed to unlove ages ago, and he is gone apparently thinking I never loved him, but I need him know I do, I think only music can reach his thick skull. And since you know I am not the musician type , I am leaving you the notes of a song he wrote, would you play it for him on the 22nd of May every year and make that nut of a case understand he is loved ? Thank you.