Welcome back!

Ah, my old friend, Insomnia....how I haven't missed you one fucking bit.

It's 2:30am. I'm depressed. So what the fuck else is new.

warning:This post may and probably will contain bitter, self depreciating, semi confusing comments and remarks. proceed at your own risk.

How do you put a monetary figure on someones life? how do you ask to be compensated for the years they DON'T get to have--especially if they were sick?

My sisters are talking about this. they are using me, and my young age, non-marital status, childless, non fully college educated existence to pump up the potential sum my fathers few years left of life may have been worth. why? Why are they doing this? I'm confused, and saddened. what kind of money is it worth to me to have a father-daughter dance at my wedding? what if dad couldn't walk by then? he was on oxygen full time. what is it worth to me to have him hold his newest grandchild? to see me get my masters degree?

I don't want to ask these questions, as, well, I'm not going to have a father-daughter dance. He will never meet any more grandchildren, and will not pose for pictures with me in my collegiate cap and gown. it's worth nothing, and everything to me.

My sisters had all that. he met their kids, danced at their weddings, made speeches. Celebrated birthdays, holidays with them and their new families. Got to see his grandchildren grow up.

I don't get it. my step dad is dead, my dad is dead. My children will have no maternal grandfathers. they will know only pictures and stories of these men. They will never experience dad at his worst, calling names and being a racist. They will never hear the made up swear words, the dry wit, the laughter. have the virtues of german sports cars extolled upon them by the old man.

What is it worth to me? I would give anything I have to have my dad back. To be able to get up tomorrow morning and have him sitting in his chair, banging the newspaper at me to make him a drink. To have to rearrange my life to make sure that he was taken care of, to be on constant red alert that something may happen. I would give anything, everything to see him one more time and tell him I'm sorry--I'm sorry that he fell, that I didn't catch him or even try. that I didn't demand to talk to the doctor when I called the hospital, that I didn't spend every fucking moment I could with him before he died. That I worked 50 hour weeks while he sat at home alone up until the day he fucking died.

it breaks my fucking HEART to not have the old asshole around. Not sharing cigarettes, drinking martinis, telling dirty jokes. He drove me crazy, and I loved him.

We never had a good relationship until I moved back here--and then he got so sick, so fast. I didn't tell him I loved him before he died. I hadn't hugged him, kissed him, in years. Granted, we weren't an affectionate family....and had I known, I would have.....But when we had our last conversation, I didn't want him to know I was scared, because then he would have been scared too. He knew me well enough to know that if I was crying, if I told him I loved him, that something was really wrong. I didn't want his last moments to be filled with fear....I wanted him to be as comfortable as possible. I didn't know that he was going to die five minutes later. I had to lock myself in the hospital bathroom after he fell, because I was fucking hysterical. I didn't want dad to know.

I just miss my dad. i resent my sisters for just wanting the fucking money and not caring that he's gone....especially since they got all the memories I wont. that my kids won't. it hurts.