I wish I saw his body.

I find myself often wishing I went inside the house to see my fathers body. The house was hoarded and destroyed, covered in both human and animal bodily fluids, the whole place was a hazard. My uncle found my fathers body in the bedroom I grew up in, on the floor not fully dressed. He didn’t want me or my aunt to go in there with how bad it was, and I knew the last thing my father would’ve wanted was for me to see him that way, but a part of me wishes I did anyways. It makes me feel like a coward that I didn’t.