from the books i'll never write

one last goodbye

possible trigger warning, as this is about my stepdad who died 7 months ago.
written in 2018

i am not sure whether i knew you or not. because even though you were with me for eight years, i must admit that neither of us made much of an effort to meet up during the last four years of your short life. and it hurts to admit that i sometimes can't seem to remember that is your picture taped to our fridge, but it seems like a stranger i've never met. i am no longer sure whether you loved me the way i loved you, or if you only loved your wife and your own daughter, and because i was never truly your son, you could not love me the same way. i can't help but the think that the times you lashed out was not out of frustration, but merely out of repressed dislike. i do not want to forget you but i can barely remember you anymore, because i could never find the courage to talk to you, not even on your deathbed. a decision which i regret deeply, as i may not have pondered about you the way i do, if i had found the courage within to tell you, one last time that i love you, and given you one last goodbye.

i do not believe in the afterlife, but sometimes i hope that there is such thing, because if there is i can ask you all the things i think about. i can finally ask if you did love me, and if i actually was like a son to you. because you seemed to forget me as soon as we moved across town, leaving you in our old apartment. you never gave me christmas presents anymore and you never wished me a happy birthday. was it dislike or just forgetfulness?
if it was forgetfulness then maybe, me forgetting you isn't that bad, but i can't help but to feel some guilt, because i do not want to forget, but maybe it's for the best. because then i wouldn't feel as guilty for not saying that one last goodbye i could not bring myself to say.