Saying goodbye to part of my past.

When I was two years old, my mother and I were in a terrible car accident.  In that accident, my mother was severely wounded and I nearly died.  I found out that the driver of the vehicle we rode in recently passed away.  That person was my half sister's, my mom's youngest daughter, father. 

His passing has been on my mind a lot lately.  I'm not sad about his death.  I don't mourn him.  Shoot, I never even liked him...ever.  He was not a good man. 

I guess I'm sort of in shock that he's dead.  I think when someone you know dies, even if you didn't care for them, it just makes it more difficult to believe. 

I do feel bad for my sister, despite the fact that he was a terrible father, if you can even call him that since he had almost nothing to do with her. 

I remember once when I was really little, he was angry with me because I wouldn't call him "dad".  I told him that my dad was my dad, plus he wasn't even married to my mom.  He also got super bent out of shape when I went through my phase where I called my mom by her first name.  He told me, "She is not Debbie to you, she is Mom", to which I replied, "She told me I can call her Debbie if I wanted, so there!"  I didn't actually say, "so there", but it was definitely implied! 

So while I certainly don't miss him, I am praying for his soul, my sister, his other daughter I know he has, and anyone else he may have left behind.

RIP, Willie.