Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; I do not own Digimon.

Pitiable Expectations

It's complicated, I tell myself, as I see my mother scurrying around the house to do the dishes, the laundry, and the cleaning. She did it all in such a fixed way that it would make any outsider to the situation believe she was obsessive, or even mental, since she seemed to put off washing dishes after a good three minutes to go over to the vacuum cleaner she had left on the floor, and spent another minute or four making sure no dust particle dared to soil her well-maintained parquet, right before she dropped the electrical device and went over to the washing machine to waste a couple of minutes there, sorting out our dirty clothes according to their respective washing programmes.

I had been watching her meticulously and was somewhat taken aback, but it wasn't until after the second repeat session that I started to take pity on the poor woman. Pity on my own mother, because her hair was starting to fall out of her perfect bun and she didn't even notice it, because she passed by me and I was sure she didn't even notice my presence, and because the whole thing was just so pitiable.

And this wasn't even about her.

After all, it was my father who had died, not her.

Yes, my father, Haruhiko Takenouchi, was no longer amongst the living. He kicked the bucket so to say, ceased to exist, was dead. And Mum was still experiencing that fresh phase of denial, which was, in her particular case, accompanied by a confused daily routine stuck on replay.

After all, that's what happens when someone dies: it makes the whole family go in an instant state of distress and causes them to start crying uncontrollably because they all claim to have loved him so dearly and couldn't believe it had actually happened to him. Even the distant cousins. Or, a phenomenon usually striking the ones closest to him, they started doing crazy things that no one could blame them for. My mother, for example.

Like I said, it was complicated.

When she started to rewash the already clean plates, though, I couldn't take it anymore and tried to capture her attention by taking one out of her hand. "Mum, get a grip on yourself."

Toshiko's bewildered look befell my Piercing Glare of Authority, and when I saw all the grief, disbelief and sorrow her eyes held, I felt the standard roles of mother and daughter switch.

She needed comfort, that much was obvious, and I was the appointed adult to give it to her, even if I wasn't legally old enough to call myself that. I suppose it was my eyes, of which I was sure they showed nothing of the tumultuous feelings she was going through.

And of course, she had every right to cry her heart out for her long-time husband, from whom death had done her part. And all logic pointed out that I should feel the same for my long-time father, which I would, if only he wasn't such an arse when he was still alive. If only he hadn't left us to fend for ourselves when we desperately fought to keep him at our sides all those years ago. And if only he hadn't said that he needed to leave because of work and might not come back, which, ultimately, he didn't. I suppose I would, if he hadn't been him.

But alas, he was him, and he was dead, and my only thoughts were how my mother was so sadly overreacting, even though he had been such a lousy husband that she didn't want to divorce from, and that he was dead now so she could stop tormenting herself with the past and blame herself for his departure.

I didn't get it.

But I had been cursed with a rather large sense of empathy, so when she saw me – really saw me – and hugged me tightly, something inside of me triggered my water works as well, and we were both pitiable.

Hugs are such powerful mechanisms. And sadly enough, they featured in many of my shameless crying sessions.

Still, I felt nothing. My mother was crashing down from Mt. Everest of Love and I didn't even climb it to begin with. No emptiness, no "oh my God, he's dead? I can't believe it! Oh, I loved him so dearly". I was crying for nothing. But my mother didn't know that so she hugged me even tighter because she thought I was crashing down with her and I needed the air slammed out of me.

"We should start making arrangements" I sniffled softly.

The air returned to me as my mother suddenly let go of me, took on her mother role again, and stared at me angrily. "What is wrong with you, Sora? We just heard he... is gone and you pick out this moment to become rational?"

"Well, we should, shouldn't we? I mean, it's expected. And I figured you would want to give him the nicest ceremony possible. Right?"

I saw her hesitating in her fury, and then her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Right."

"I'll start calling Grandma, okay?"

A slow nodding fit was the only answer I got.

All around me, people were either looking at me with that 'I know what you're going through' look, crying uncontrollably whilst drawing attention to themselves, or trying to settle for an intermediate sniffling. I could pick out the ones who were close to him or only showed that they had known the man personally so easily by their manners, that it was almost funny how categorised funeral behaviour was.

But laughing at this moment would've been highly inappropriate, I realised, as I glanced at my mother next to me. She belonged to the category of the crying ones. Although she did it with her head raised, like I knew her to, and let her tears fall silently.

It was weird. I mean, didn't anyone here understand what that man had put me and my mother through? Didn't they know how he had left us for something as futile as a job, and had only sent an occasional Christmas or birthday card to keep us entertained? Why didn't they see that he wasn't the victim here? It couldn't just be part of the human race's intrinsic quality of ignorance, could it? Otherwise, the human race would indeed be very badly represented. But everyone, including my own mother, acted as if he could've been a hero and should even get a statue for his merits. Everyone, except for me.

It made me wonder if I had to feel horrible as well, because, well, everyone else did. And it was expected from the daughter of the deceased, after all.

So I did, a little, most likely because of my empathy that gave off such large waves of guilt that I couldn't help but feel awful. After all, it could be that he was some sort of CIA officer and had no choice but to go away in order to protect his family. But it was a far-fetched possibility even I had difficulties with accepting.

And from the moment that awfulness came over me, and I actually cried without a hug setting it off, I felt even more guilty, because it was the wrong kind of awfulness. I was an imposter; a phoney that in reality felt nothing. Would people know that when they saw me? Would they start pointing fingers and disturb the funeral to shout indignant words at me that I deserved?

Probably not. Like I said, humans are very ignorant at times where they really shouldn't be.

So I cried. I was worried that someone might uncover my secret, but I cried nonetheless. And I wasn't pitiable at all.

And then came the time for us, the funeral's attenders (and more specifically the family members), to say our personal goodbyes to the man in the coffin. As in, see him off for the last time before he went away for good.

My mother went first, and she remarkably held a little speech without wavering once. She spoke of his kindness, of the prestigious work that he had accomplished at the University of Kyoto, of his funny trademark forgetfulness (irony hit me at that exact point), and of many other things that were so standard to say on a funeral. She received many nods and watery smiles after she finished, and then she turned towards me with a watery smile of her own to indicate that it was my turn.

I didn't know what to do really. I had nothing to say to the audience, and I didn't want to say something to him either, so I just kept on pretending that I was a good and exemplary daughter and laid down a rose on his coffin while bowing respectfully, not looking at his waxen peaceful face once.

But as I turned my bowing head away from him, something akin to a swirling of butterflies in my stomach hit me. No. This was not how it was supposed to end. This was my only chance at saying what was actually going through my mind, and had done so for the last five years. I had to take it.

I couldn't speak out loud of course, or else I would disturb the entire thing and pull people out of their illusionary bubble of lovingness, which, strangely enough, was starting to get to me in a way that made me believe empathy was not the interfering power. So I furrowed my brow and faced my father in the coffin. I would be brave, I coached myself, and speak telepathically to him face to face.

Yes, telepathically, because I sort of believed in souls passing on when they died, and I sort of believed they would only do so fully when their bodies had gotten a proper farewell ceremony. And in my sort of theory, my Dad would still be able to hear me. So...

'Hey Dad. It's me, Sora. I don't know if you still remember me, because I sure as hell didn't see any sign of you remembering your family when you were still... alive, but... I'm your daughter. Your one and only daughter that you left when she was 12 years old. Yeah, that one. I guess I just wanted you to know that you really, really, hurt us. And I don't think you understand the full extent of that. We had to take care of ourselves. It made us hard, it made me grow up too fast because Mum couldn't handle being alone. You made me like that. I... don't understand either. I don't understand why you had to go. Was it my fault? It couldn't have been Mum's, she was there for you all the time and loved you so much she never went against you. Unlike me. But I... just don't get it. I'm hoping you have some kind of reason that I've failed to see for 5 entire years, but I honestly have no idea. And... the day you left... was the day I've always remembered as the day you died for me. For us. Because two visits per year don't cover your being a good Dad, you know. It makes you a horrible Dad, which is probably why I was out most of the times Mum said you were visiting. I just... why Dad? Why? Why weren't we good enough anymore? Why did you throw all those good memories out of the window by going away? I... loved you Dad. I sincerely loved you to bits, but... you didn't. And if you did, you didn't do a proper job in showing that. And that hurt. But... no matter what I do, I can't help but still love you. I know I shouldn't, but I do. And it's... really hard for me to admit that, so I hope you heard me, because I'm not repeating himself... And, I guess this is goodbye. I know it doesn't look like it, but I hope you'll be happy, wherever you're going. Really, I do. So... bye Dad. I... love you.'

At that moment, tears were streaming. No sniffling, no uncontrollable howling sounds, just streaming. Like my Mum, and I felt utterly guilty for being the way I was and how I made everything even more difficult for her this week. I had to make it up to her after this. And for the first time that day, for the first time in years when it came to my Dad, I was doing what people expected me to do; I weeped for my father because I loved him. I loved him. And by admitting that, I became calm. I finally found peace, even though I still didn't understand his reasons, and even though he was horrible in being a father. Because he was my Dad, and I couldn't help but love him. And I absently realised that I'd admitted to that more than I would've liked to, and that it somehow felt nice to do so.

I was at peace, and I hoped he was as well.

A/N: I'm kinda in doubt whether to like this or not. It's a little non-Sora-like. But I had to get this out, and she was the most appointed character for that, so I'm sorry I butchered her character :p Btw, I sort of liked how she doesn't know what the reason for him leaving was in the end. After all, when someone dies, they take away everything they could've said with them, and in reality, this happens frequently as well. And I guess that not-knowing is something you have to make peace with.

x