Today I picked out an urn for my father. On Monday my biological father died. We weren't particularly close, but it still hurts. I've barely cried. I feel bad that I don't feel worse about him dying. Two weeks ago he called me and we talked for a bit. That was the first time I spoke to him in three years. He didn't say he was dying.
We used to be closer when I was younger. Him and my mom broke up when was 3. When he lived close enough I used to stay with him every other weekend or so up until middle school. Once a month or so when he lived in Detroit (until he got arrested for DUI while driving me home one time.) We'd watch the live action batman films from the early 90's (the ones with Michael Keaton.) And he'd give me jelly toast with coffee in the mornings. That's one of the few things I really remember.
I did live with him and his girlfriend for a couple months right after I graduated high school. It didn't work out and I left shortly after and moved in with my grandmother. When I lived with him I did find out I have another half-sister. My mother knew but never felt the need to tell me. Would have been nice to know. (I found her online but never worked up the nerve to contact her.) The last time I saw him was 3 years ago at his sister's funeral service. The only thing he said to me was a comment about all my facial piercings.
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