Father

This picture is the bones of 50 years old. It's me, as a baby, and my father. My brave mum left my abusive father, with me and my sister, and started a new life when we were still little. As the years went by and we got a 'Dad', my father mattered less and less.Until my sister and I were invited to our aunt Sue's wedding (fathers sister),where we met Father as teenagers at said wedding. By way of some sort of apology, the best he could do for never sending Christmas cards, or birthday cards or even just picking up the phone to see how we were doing, was to give us a fiver each and take us for a 'blast' in the Jag. Bit poor really, what little pedestal I had him on was finally gone. Was that all we were to him? Needless to say neither my sister or me have seen him in decades, he never made an effort before the wedding and never made an effort since. I went to see him a couple of times in my twenties for what reason I don't know, made no difference or deference to him.
Anyway I heard today that he'd passed away this morning, and, for some reason I found it upsetting. Not really sure why, not sure how it makes me feel. The one good thing I do know about my father, because of him I'm a better dad to mine,