Well this is kinda weird...a big look into my mind, I suppose.

I can't really say that I miss him, or that I will miss him. I did enough of that growing up. He was there, but usually not nearly in the ways I wanted him to be. When he was there, I usually didn't want him to be there. When he was gone, I was usually glad he was gone. It was freedom from him.

He rarely had a problem with me. I stayed out of his way. I really didn't like being in his presence. I was afraid of him. I didn't know what his disposition would be at that moment. It usually wasn't positive, though. The times he was happy didn't last long, and he would snap at the drop of a hat. He would shout and yell, I would leave, never taking his words seriously. 90% of the time it was the alcohol talking anyway. He could yell for hours, but it was rarely directed at me. Only once or twice it got serious with me.

That was after I started sticking up, not even for myself. I have little self-respect, if you haven't noticed, and could care less about people degrading me. It's his targets I would stick up for. This shocked him, but it had to stop. It began to work.

Then there was the time I had to get the focus onto myself so he didn't try to put it on someone else. This is the only time it got physical with me. I'd seen him get physical with each one of my siblings and my mother numerous times, but this was the first and only time with me.

It was over some stupid little thing. He just wanted an excuse to yell at me, and focus on me. I kept the focus on me so the other 2 with me wouldn't be involved. "Say one more thing and I'll smack you!" "Go ahead and hit me, I don't care." Try to get past him, and WHAM! Right to my face. I pushed him back to get past, but then he looked at my mother, then back to me with such rage in his eyes. Did I really just strike back? How?

Thus, it began. He began swinging away. I brought him down and wrestled him until I believed he'd had enough. Then we rose to our feet. He began yelling, my mother in between us. He reached up to hit again, and I moved my mother away and took the hit. Then, I landed my single punch on him, and he turned to spit blood in the sink.

I left the house that night, but before I did, I looked him in the eye and told him I loved him. I told him it wasn't his fault. I came back 2 weeks later.

That was the only time. That night changed him. A couple months later, he went back to the alcohol. He would get angry still, but rarely raised his voice. Then he got diagnosed with cancer.

We thought it was mostly controlled. I went to Basic Training. Then, during the middle, I received a letter from my mother telling me that it was a bad week. They found more cancer in his other lung, his eye, and lymph nodes. I cried that day, but looking back on it now...I cried for my mother. Why did she have to be there alone to care for him?

I continued training, went through AIT...came home for Christmas. He seemed to be doing as good as he could be, trying at least to remain a little positive. He could move by himself, but would just get tired easily. He told me and my brothers how proud he was of us. I told him we had strong influences growing up. I also thought to myself, "we see the negatives of bad choices..." I never hated him, I loved him. It was his choices I hated. Choices we didn't need to be around growing up.

I returned to more training, and came back in February. He was doing way worse. Bedridden, most of the time. Slept all day, so of course he was. The only things he'd get up for were to go to the bathroom or to drink. He had an altered mental status, saying crazy things. My mother stayed home with him all the time now, instead of working. I didn't want to be there, so I was away from home the majority of the month. When I left at the end of the month, I knew it'd be the last time I talked to him. I told him I loved him, he told me he was always proud of me. I kissed his forehead and left.

I left to come here, to South Korea. Too far away from home, if you ask me. Way too far. I felt a little guilty for not spending enough time with my mother. She didn't need to have to deal with all of that by herself. She'd send me updates about her worrying about if she's making the right decisions or not. She asked me for advice, and I did my best. I worried...about her. I'm very blunt about things, so here it is: I knew my father was going to die soon, so I didn't really care about that. What I didn't know was what my mom was going to do afterwards, and how to make her feel more at ease from the other side of the world.

Then, he died. I went home that same day. My mother was okay. We were honestly relieved. No more suffering over him, just grieving now. For me, the grieving was nonexistant. For my mother, it was short.

I went home. It was like nothing changed. He wasn't there, just like I imagined when I was growing up.

Now, I just worry about my mother. She has to change, and deal with being alone. She's never lived alone her whole life.

Once I get out of the Army, she'll always live with me. I won't let her live alone again.

Momma's boy until the end, no matter what...

But I really DO love you, Dad, and always will. I'll continue to make you proud, and I wish I could have changed you sooner.

And by golly, my grieving has begun.

I'm afraid I'm only crying right now for the father I missed out on, and not the one I had. I don't know for sure, and things like that is what scares me the most...not knowing.

My fourth post, I guess...

I've known for a while that the majority of the human race is addicted to drama. People get so bored with their lives that they either have to add some "pizazz" to their own worthless life (by starting a conflict), or the ever-popular prying into other peoples' business. From their, they can either take 2 paths: just sit and watch to get their enjoyment, or feed the flames. Most of the time, they know if they try to help it'll cause more drama. This just encourages most people...either way, people disgust me. I hate the human race, if you haven't already deduced that. Our existance is pointless, at least that's how it seems to me. I just treat everything I do as an experiment to get my own kicks, I don't try to provoke drama...stupid people.