There are plenty of ways to sugarcoat it, or use lots of needless words to make it sound a little less hars

My father was a bad person.
There are plenty of ways to sugarcoat it, or use lots of needless words to make it sound a little less harsh. But that would mean burying the truth under a bunch of excuses and cover stories — and people like me, who have survived the things I have, already spent way too much of our lives doing that.
He may be deceased, but he gets the legacy he created.

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I see no need to be gentle to someone who was always so cruel to me.
My father’s character (or lack thereof) isn’t a new revelation to me — or to anyone who knew him. It’s just an accepted fact, something I’ve always known.
Recently, while watching a movie based on a bestselling memoir by a supremely talented writer and compelling storyteller, I noticed something that just didn’t ring true to me as the adult child of a parent like my father.
The deathbed epiphany/apology scene has become a staple in these kinds of stories. In them, the parent suddenly has a bout of conscience and wants to make amends for the things they have done. The adult child, in turn, realizes that their parent made mistakes but had a lot of good points — and besides, those hardships made them (the adult child) a strong person. So all is forgiven, just in the nick of time.
In the case of this movie, the main character was shown literally running to her dying father’s bedside, where their reconciliation happens shortly before he passes away. While this type of dramatic scene might provide the Hollywood happy ending that audiences may crave, it can also set unrealistic expectations and perhaps even does a disservice to the many people for whom there is no such final gesture.
Of course, I realize the author is telling her real-life story, so maybe in her case, it actually played out as depicted in the movie. Perhaps she’s one of the rare and lucky ones. In reality, for most people, it doesn’t usually happen that way. I suspect, however, in many such cases, people rewrite the scenes in their own minds, describing that final reconciliation they desperately wanted — even if it’s not exactly how it happened. In the case of movies, I think this is what Hollywood envisions as “closure.”
Most of the time, an abusive parent who has been morally bankrupt their entire life doesn’t suddenly grow a conscience once their days are numbered. Even if they did, such a gesture might not even be wanted or welcomed by their adult children. Worse, these stories put pressure on survivors of abusive childhoods to embrace this gesture should it happen — or can make them feel deprived of it if it isn’t offered. This only compounds their pain and shifts the responsibility of “making things right” onto the survivor, as opposed to putting the blame on the guilty party where it rightfully belongs.
As you’ve probably guessed, in my case, there was no such moment of dramatic reconciliation or apology at my father’s deathbed. I didn’t go to see my father when he was dying. He didn’t suddenly have a brink-of-death epiphany. Which was just as well, because I wouldn’t have wanted to hear anything he’d have to say.