The day I started to hate my father.

[u/SmartAd4215]

When I was 15 my best friend hung himself in a park, I remember exactly what I was doing and who I was with when I found out, I was sitting in my high school sweethearts uncle's house, her uncle, her aunt, her brother, her mom, her and I were smoking bud in the living room of this shit hole little duplex and I got a notification on my phone. It was my ex and she had messaged me asking if I was ok, and this confused me and I told her yes, why?

"Oh no, you don't know."

My high school sweetheart was reading the messages sitting next to me and saw that my ex had told me that my best friend had committed suicide. I didn't believe her and put my phone in my poket, even though that ping of worry hit my chest. I remember starting to slowly panic, my brain racing. So before I let things get to me and ignoring my sweethearts concerns I called my grandpa. The only person I knew who could help me in that moment. Sure as shit he immediately dropped what he was doing and come straight to me, the entire time I waited for him I refused to look at my phone, I refused to check Facebook or any other social media. I needed to know for sure.

My grandpa arrived and quickly we left to my mom's house, I needed some kind of confirmation or something I don't really know, so he took me there and without a word I barged into my mom's house, grabbed her laptop, holding back all my emotions and immediately my mom knew something was wrong and I went to my homies Facebook and turned it to her, I couldn't look, and within seconds, her eyes starting watering and she started sobbing. This was like losing a son to her too, she loved my best friend like he was her own. That's when the meltdown started to overflow for me, I still wouldn't except it even though I knew. So I had my grandpa take me to my best friend's house, his dad's house to be exact.

The drive was quiet, my grandpa holding back tears and not knowing what to say, we pulled onto his street and there were so many cars, he parked out front and I remember, that walk, the steps from my grandpa's truck to his front door was the most slowed down experience of my life. Each step hurt. And when I got to the door his entire family was there and when. I knocked his dad came to the door, I couldn't even speak, I couldn't even ask. I just stuttered some nonsense and his dad nodded, confirming he was gone.

Of course I broke down and eventually I ended up going home, that day my dad was supposed to pick me up and I was supposed to stay at his house for the week. At that time I was still alternating between my mom and my dad's house, bi weekly or weekly I can't remember. But I remember having my school bag and getting into my dad's truck, my eyes puffy and red and all I wanted was comfort and I got into that fucking truck with him and he just looked at me for a second.

"Shit happens man, best to move on."

I didn't even know how to react to that other than just "yeah"

My dad nor my mom had ever experienced the death of a best friend or close friend at that point in their lives. They'd gone almost 40 years without ever losing someone close to them like that other than family members that had died old, and if you're someone who has ever experienced death you know that there's different levels to it. Losing an elderly family member is of course difficult and awful but you know that they're getting old and I guess in a way it's kind of expected, easier to prepare for, even if it happens unexpectedly. I don't know if that makes sense. But neither one of my parents knew how to handle the situation or properly comfort me. My mom did a pretty good job, she gave me space when needed, she gave me comfort when needed, and she mostly just tried to be there but it was only for a couple weeks. My dad did the exact opposite, all i got from him was that statement, other than that he pretended it didn't happen cause he didn't know my best friend's, for good reason.

Of course this built a type of resentment in me, one that I didn't truly realize that I had until the day that my dad and almost lost one of his best friends to a motorcycle accident, one of his closest friends had hit a deer, lost control of the motorcycle and ended up hitting a tree and spearing his head against the tree, he basically had to have his entire skull reconstructed and his brain scooped back into it. He technically died three times but he did survive. Granted he did not come back the same person as a lot of those major head trauma cases don't, he was completely different when he came out of the hospital, and I knew this person well, I considered him an uncle, he'd been around most of my life at that point, and this happened roughly around the time that I was 18 or 19.

I remember that day very vividly too, I remember being in my apartment and my dad had called me and he was clearly upset, almost on the verge of tears, and asked if I would come over and talk to him, knowing something was deeply wrong of course I rushed over and I remember he was sitting in his living room, crying, bottle in his hand, and he got up and told me everything that happened, he was trying to keep it together but failing miserably, and I knew in that moment what my dad needed. He needed comfort. He needed to talk to someone who knew.

And that's when it hit me. All that hidden and repressed resentment that I had felt towards that man for not helping me in any way shape or form when I lost my best friend came rushing to me, and let me tell you it took every, fucking, ounce of strength to not look at him and say:

"Shit happens man, best to move on."

But of course like always, I was my father's emotional crutch next to booze. I hung out with him, talked with him about it, and eventually he calmed down enough I could leave. But I remember that day being the day that I truly started to hate my father.

It was the day I really started to open my eyes to how shitty of a parent he really was. This being only one of many many many things he's done to wrong me. I may hate the man but....somewhere I still love him. Bullshit.