Daddy

After my dad moved to California, things got messy. His health started going downhill even faster, and I ended up taking care of him, even though it wasn't something I really signed up for. Despite helping him set up his new life there and spending a ton of time with him, when I needed a hand, he turned his back on me. I asked him to co-sign for an apartment, and he just wouldn’t even answer but reflect, making me feel embarrassed and stuck in this never-ending caregiver role. The realization struck hard when it became clear he wasn't going to offer the help I needed, and my bad credit prevented me from managing on my own. The breaking point hit when I took stock of how much of my Covid relief money had been poured into supporting him and his household, alongside the ongoing chores and tasks I tirelessly handled. Fed up, I sent him a bill for $12,000, providing him with all the receipts. To my disbelief, he took the matter to his bank and disputed the charges, adding another layer of frustration to an already strained situation.  The bank  took the money back, and to top it off, they closed my bank account, later I found out my sister knew the entire situation. . Feeling totally trapped and disrespected, I moved myself and my dog into the garage just to get away. He'd come by every day, open the garage, stare at me, and not say a word. A week later, when I went to take a shower, I discovered he had changed the locks to his condo. A trip to the police station confirmed the illegality of such an action, but at that point, I had reached a state of indifference. Unable to endure the situation any longer, I decided to escape to stay with my friend Melissa in Arizona, marking the last time I had any communication with my dad.  It's pretty clear he lacks empathy, and his stubborn Italian attitude just made things worse. Less than six months later, he moved to a retirement home, acknowledging his inability to manage independently and opting to pay four times the amount he used to pay for his condo mortgage to ensure necessary assistance.   I feel a sense of disappointment that I won't be present at his funeral, and our communication has come to a halt. Despite the melancholy, the relief from removing toxic vibes is undeniable, even though I harbor a concern about potential exclusion from his will. Instead of sending him a bill, I could have opted for a different approach and simply helped myself to the cash in his closet. It turns out he had over $25,000 in untaxed money cunningly hidden there.

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