My father story part four.

The next bombshell was my dad and his wife selling up their house and buying a caravan to roam the country selling antiques on Market stalls. Entrepreneur or scruffy gypsy? The latter.
Mixing with other smelly bastards all over the British isles was enjoyed by him and his wife but it was a lot harder than expected. 
My brothers and his family heard less and Less. We all felt like he'd just upped and left us to it.
The call came after a while that his wife had collapsed and died in their caravan. Sad news. This humbled my dad. He hit the bottle as was expected but what was strange was the ease of getting over it. There must have been a false front at play. I met up with him and This was my moment. Dad said to me that now his wife had gone that he was going to give his family his full attention. He even said that he still loved my mum. 
It was a bizarre meeting but I told him he had not bothered with his grand kids and that pissed his sons and their wives off. He was going to rectify this though. He disappeared again to try and continue with the markets. Stories of him showering out in the rain storms whilst standing in just his pants came through shaming me further.
The next time I saw my dad some of his smelly friends had pretty much taken a pile of money out of his caravan. I'm told he had attempted suicide by nicking his wrist vein but failing to kill himself because his  thick blood clots quickly.
I heard he was prepared to fuck us all off again and I was furious because this was an action against my own son. I thought a grandad should be so much better than that. 
I explained at the time that I could handle him not being great towards me but when he was being useless to my son it was too much. So my opinion was that my dad had succeeded in killing himself and so he'd in effect told us all to 'go fuck ourselves'. 
I met up with him in a mcdonalds restaurant and managed to tell him what a letdown he was to me. I told him that he was indifferent to me. I reminded him of the time I was at my lowest ebb and his tea was more important. Once I'd started the tears were less of a possibility. I peaked by telling him that I actually thought he was a 'Cunt'. 
The conversation ended with yet another clean slate and promises to finally be a dad and a grandad.
Two weeks later it was my birthday. Right up into my thirties he had not properly wished me a happy birthday by ringing me or giving me my card on the right day. This was part of the new agreement. By eight o clock on my birthday I text my dad to say that he couldn't said happy birthday today and he gave a crap excuse. 
So I text him that that was the final chance wasted and to never contact me again. 
And the shitty thing on top is that he put up no fight, he simply never contacted me again.