What you are feeling is absolutely normal. Are you a sociopath? No. Are you a terrible person for not grieving the way you perceive a daughter should grieve for her father? No.
That hole you describe was the place that all the anger, pain, insecurity, regrets, memories, doubts, and mixed feelings went to. When your dad was around, there was something in the hole, even if it was a mess - imperfect flesh - a square peg in a round hole. Now that he's gone, you feel that hole has caved. It's the scab that is ripped to reveal an open wound, but you're used to the pain, and now you don't even feel it.
You've got "Daddy issues" in a BIG way. So do I.
I make it a point not to share my own story with people, but your courageous, inspired, and psychologically relevant post intrigues me. In the spirit of cathartic revelations, I will tell you about my own experience.
My own father passed away back in 2007, so it was five years ago. He was mid fifties, I was mid twenties. A lot of the emotions I felt at the time were pushed down and seem to be making their way back up. For example, i'll be having a great day, but then i'll look out a window and take a breath, and remember my dad is dead. Like yours, mine was both a positive and a destructive force in my life. My parents got divorced when I was 5. I only remember glimpses of the early years - fishing trips - canoe rides - listening to rock and roll. Watching American Werewolf in London (the original). MTV. Funny how our life can be chono-logged by pop music charts. We used to hit the comic book stores together with my brother, and he was generous or seemed that way to us kids. On the other hand, he would disappear for whole nights, and, like most drunks, let us down and forget hiking trips and birthdays. To our mom, he was a great guy, until he would drink, and then he would get violent. Not the typical violence, if there is typical violence, but I remember him emptying out her purse once in a rage and throwing a beer bottle across the room shortly before the divorce. I'm sure there was more going on that my brother and I did not see. He could never hold down a job for long.
Afterwards, there was distance. We would stay over at his place every once and awhile and there were still trips, but he had become more adept at making excuses. Alcoholics are marked by an uncanny denial. Perhaps they lie to themselves as they lie to others - but nothing is ever their fault. Maybe they don't remember. Maybe they are weak. He would blame things on our mom, even to the point of selling stories that no one was buying. Once, he came over to pick us up, and mom wouldn't open the door. He threw our deck chair at the door and left in a rage. Another time, we were swimming at a complex pool and I splashed one of his temporary girlfriends, and she flicked a cigarette at me which burned a patch in my arm. I was about 8, and I ran away through the complex. He caught up and choked me into submission. Another time, mom came to pick us up from a visitation, and we went out to the car while they talked inside. We went back inside when she didn't come out and he had her in a strange position and was trying to put a dirty mop on her face, and down her throat. That memory is pretty fuzzy. She must have gotten some bleach or dirt in her mouth. Typing this out makes me realize how much we also make excuses about the abuse, I guess a coping mechanism, but it wasn't always like that. Those moments leave big impressions. There were a lot of good times too, but they were hesitant, fleeting moments. He tried to keep a bird for a pet, but it flew away.
One day, he stopped visiting, and we stopped going over. I was probably 10 or 11. He had moved across the country without saying bye. Every now and then we got a call, but no one was interested in speaking. We would get $25 checks, sporadically, for things like Christmas from our grandparents on his side, but never from him. No birthday gifts. Sometimes a drunken phone call. Things went on like that for awhile. Our grandparents on his side died. Alcoholics self destruct and take their relationships down with them. But to his credit, he did take care of his parents before they passed. Can't say the same about his kids, though. When I was around 22 he finally paid up on a few thousand dollars of child support from who knows when.
When I was 24 I got a call - it was him. It was a mixed phone call. I chastised him because I found out, via google, that he had been arrested for drunk driving a couple years before. I said something along the lines of "what type of grown man does that". He said that was in the past. He commented that we never send photos or update him on our lives - classic alcoholic displacement of responsibility - thin attempt to guilt trip. I told him he was never there for us. He said it takes two and that we were never there for him either. That made me angry, and I told him it was BS, which it was, but it still stings a bit. Then, he wanted our social security numbers. I immediately went on the defensive - no way was I going to let this guy ruin my own credit or participate in some identify theft plan. He said he was straightening out his affairs and was going to put us as beneficiaries to his life insurance. I told him he can do that but he wasn't going to get our socials. He got mad and said "i'll just give it all to mikey then". I was like "who the f is mikey"... he's like "one of your cousins". We had met a couple of the cousins, but were almost entirely out of the loop for that side of the family. I told him to do what he wants. He calmed down and said he loved us. I really didn't know what to make of it at the time. I gave him a lip-full i'm sure.
About a month or two later, we got the call that he had died in a car accident. My brother and I flew up to take care of business. To this day, I can't figure out if it was an accident, or a suicide. Single vehicle crash in the middle of the afternoon. Blood alcohol level of .3 (more than three times the USA legal limit). He drove off a hill going fast, no seat belt, was partially ejected out of the vehicle while the vehicle was flipping. Made a huge mess. Not sure if he passed out from the blood alcohol level, or if he turned the radio up and decided to take a nose dive.
It turns out he did put us on the insurance, but there were alot of questions surrounding the accident. Even after the death, his siblings denied that he was an alcoholic. Had had another bird this time around, and someone agreed to take care of it. The siblings drank too, or if they didn't drink they were weird, insular, ex-urban middle class Americana. They also tried to blame stuff on our mom, but we would not hear any of that. We parted on good terms with them, but did not speak afterwards. A particularly belligerent uncle (by marriage) wanted to "help" us take care of some property up there, and by help I mean try to bill us twice a week for lawn care in the winter... we ended up lawyering up for matters of estate. Our lawyer died during the process too, so we got a senior partner at the firm to finish up the business. It was a big headache. I still have some of hi stuff... mostly junk, but some good cds, knives, pictures, things like that.
That was 5 years ago. My brother and I don't talk about it. Unlike you, I have not been able to let the anger go. His death was, in some ways, a relief, and in some ways a betrayal. I cried. I got mad. Like you, there is a sense of emptiness there still, and i'm not sure it will ever go away. On a personal level, I have to quit blaming things on him. I guess denial is a learned trait, because sometimes I will get into the line of blaming him for personal failures.
Looking back at pictures, there are raw, mixed emotions. Pleasure and pain, mostly a mix of longing for something that was never truly there and resentment, sprinkled in with mystery, guilt, and a slew of unanswered questions. I still google him every now and then. On the flip side, even though we don't keep up with that side of the family, I value my heritage and the history of that family. One time, I googled him, to find a cousin on that side of the family had died in a drunk ATV accident. The cousin was at a birthday party, maybe drinking, maybe not, got on the ATV, and flipped down the driveway somehow, bashing his brains out on the cement. Left a wife behind.
Well, I don't really know where I was going with this, except to say you're not alone, and to thank you for posting in a more coherent way than I did, because you inspired me to share my story as well. I don't really know what to do with this mixed bag of emotions that at once cuts me and desensitizes me. I can be perfectly happy, then think back on the day for things I might have forgotten to do, but by searching underneath that seemingly harmless veil of day to day memory, I uncover these feelings, waiting beneath the surface, and my smile turns to a frown. Yeah, I wish I could let these go, but I'll probably take them to the grave. Everyone has their SH*** though.
Rock on, little sister. It'll get better for you, I hope.