I joined this site not longer after I turned 14 and spent a lot of time here. I came here and spoke about my father being murdered when I was 12, and my mother being a little mean at times, eventually kicking me out not long after I turned 15. I also spoke of wanting to be a psychiatrist, and my mistrust for authority after a suicide attempt years earlier, and having suffered with chronic anxiety. I always felt odd here because I was so young, and I came across some strong people on here, but I was never made to feel stupid, worthless or dramatic.
So loss. As I said above, my father was murdered 4 and a half years ago. The case was shut after 3 and a half years so the case will never be looked at again. Anyways.
My father and I didn't see one another much, and as well all know as you get older you can drift away from your parents. My relationship with my him never developed beyond "family friend", my mother, in all her bitterness had made sure that the relationship was un salvageable.
Some time before my dad died, it may have been the last time I ever saw him, I can't be certain due to my tendency back then to block out certain things; but I remember being with him one afternoon and we stood at the top of a street. We were saying goodbye and he made to hug me and I refused due to him having been out the night before and I could vaguely smell vomit and vodka on him. I said my goodbyes an walked away. All I know for certain was that I hadn't seen my father in at least a week before he died.
I meant to send him a text the night he died, but I decided not to because it'd be a waste of money. I found out the next day he was dead after returning home from school.
I know he died alone, I know that he died with people who didn't love him around him. I know he died on the garden floor surrounded by weeds and dog excrement. I know he was hit over the head before being killed.
I was told he died instantly, but I can't even be sure whether I was told a lie to make me feel better, or he lived for a few seconds.
He was a man who wanted to be loved and needed that reassurance, and ended up dating the wrong woman who treated both of us like hell. He knew hundreds of people and yet, after he died and after the funeral, nobody gave a damn and nobody ever bothered at the grave or with his family. He searched to be loved and I was the only person beyond his parents and siblings that could have offered him the love he craved, but I was too emotionally damaged to be able to truly show any love, and I can't be sure whether he was aware of that or not, and if he was he certainly wasn't intelligent enough to understand why that was the case.
My father died alone. His body was kept in the morgue until it turned black after weeks of being observed. His stuff was robbed, pictures that he drew for me were taken from his girlfriend, money was also taken.
I remember very clearly how the coffin had one of those golden handles at the front and as I walked in front with my grandmother, I was looked at by 100's of people with pity, and all I could hear was the gold handle hitting the coffin. I remember I had a very bad cold that lasted for 2 months on and off and I lost weight.
Eh, I'm in therapy right now, and memories are coming back in much clearer detail. I have no idea how I'm supposed to move on from the situation. He's dead, I can grieve for him, I have done and I've moved on. But I'm supposed to move on from knowing my father was alone, my father was hit across the head and stabbed in a garden, and they kept his body for weeks. I'm supposed to be able to accept that there will never be any justice, that I could be standing in front of his murderers when I'm out shopping, that every time I close my eyes at night my father is gone, will never be here ever again, and he had nobody to care, and his body was left for half an hour in the garden before anybody decided to phone an ambulance, and that he may have possibly lived for a second or two, long enough to perhaps know he was about to die, alone.
I'm sorry how long this post is, it's nice to write it all down.
So loss. As I said above, my father was murdered 4 and a half years ago. The case was shut after 3 and a half years so the case will never be looked at again. Anyways.
My father and I didn't see one another much, and as well all know as you get older you can drift away from your parents. My relationship with my him never developed beyond "family friend", my mother, in all her bitterness had made sure that the relationship was un salvageable.
Some time before my dad died, it may have been the last time I ever saw him, I can't be certain due to my tendency back then to block out certain things; but I remember being with him one afternoon and we stood at the top of a street. We were saying goodbye and he made to hug me and I refused due to him having been out the night before and I could vaguely smell vomit and vodka on him. I said my goodbyes an walked away. All I know for certain was that I hadn't seen my father in at least a week before he died.
I meant to send him a text the night he died, but I decided not to because it'd be a waste of money. I found out the next day he was dead after returning home from school.
I know he died alone, I know that he died with people who didn't love him around him. I know he died on the garden floor surrounded by weeds and dog excrement. I know he was hit over the head before being killed.
I was told he died instantly, but I can't even be sure whether I was told a lie to make me feel better, or he lived for a few seconds.
He was a man who wanted to be loved and needed that reassurance, and ended up dating the wrong woman who treated both of us like hell. He knew hundreds of people and yet, after he died and after the funeral, nobody gave a damn and nobody ever bothered at the grave or with his family. He searched to be loved and I was the only person beyond his parents and siblings that could have offered him the love he craved, but I was too emotionally damaged to be able to truly show any love, and I can't be sure whether he was aware of that or not, and if he was he certainly wasn't intelligent enough to understand why that was the case.
My father died alone. His body was kept in the morgue until it turned black after weeks of being observed. His stuff was robbed, pictures that he drew for me were taken from his girlfriend, money was also taken.
I remember very clearly how the coffin had one of those golden handles at the front and as I walked in front with my grandmother, I was looked at by 100's of people with pity, and all I could hear was the gold handle hitting the coffin. I remember I had a very bad cold that lasted for 2 months on and off and I lost weight.
Eh, I'm in therapy right now, and memories are coming back in much clearer detail. I have no idea how I'm supposed to move on from the situation. He's dead, I can grieve for him, I have done and I've moved on. But I'm supposed to move on from knowing my father was alone, my father was hit across the head and stabbed in a garden, and they kept his body for weeks. I'm supposed to be able to accept that there will never be any justice, that I could be standing in front of his murderers when I'm out shopping, that every time I close my eyes at night my father is gone, will never be here ever again, and he had nobody to care, and his body was left for half an hour in the garden before anybody decided to phone an ambulance, and that he may have possibly lived for a second or two, long enough to perhaps know he was about to die, alone.
I'm sorry how long this post is, it's nice to write it all down.
