Not because he was a good father or a good man, he wasn't either of those things. He was an angry alcoholic with (probably) some severe mental health issues. I hadn't seen him in 25 years, he wasn't invited to my wedding, never met his amazing grandchildren, never saw my house, met my husband, or even bothered to find out who his daughters had grown up to be. He was the biggest non-presence in our life, and his death had a far bigger impact than I had ever thought it would have.
My father disappeared from our life when his second family came to be. We had a younger sister and brother but never met them (and actually just made contact). We had aunts and uncles and a grandmother with whom we spent weeks in the summers and weekends in the school year growing up. We had a father who refused to speak to us, send my sister birthday presents, or even contact us after I was 8 years old or so. My only memories of him are horrible-drunken road rage, drunken rage in general, feeling scared of him as far back as I can remember. He was not a good dad, he was not a good man. He did not help make us happy, strong or capable human beings.
Our mother left him in a high stakes winner takes all escape between when he went to work and came home for lunch. She packed whatever she could fit into a suitcase and a diaper bag, and fled with her 3 year old and 1 year old from a very comfortable (but, I can imagine terrifying life) into a life of uncertainty. She moved us to safety, did her best to co parent, and raised us to be honest, compassionate and hard working women. She, like all other single parents, had to tread the line between being a protective mother and following the law, and she did, and never once disparaged our father's reputation. We always knew that she loved us (and we still do)
From the age of 8 until sometime in my late teens, I heard nothing from him. He didn't call, write, visit-nothing. He was again, the ever present specter in our house-we had standing orders at our elementary school that he was not to pick us up without our Mom's consent, we joked about the drunk under the bridge being our dad to our friends. We really had no idea where he was or what he was doing. At one point, he sent us a letter that told us never to drink or do drugs. We wrote back, poured our hearts out, and got no response-for the rest of his life.
At some point last summer he found out that he had cancer. He received treatment through the VA, but somewhere around Christmas, he died. (We found out all of this after) This is where it gets really crazy.
At first I was fine. Then I wasn't. How is it that one person who had no tangible presence in your life could have such a hold over your emotions? How is it that the death of the absence of a person could be causing such upeaval in my emotions? Why does that Southern Comfort ad that they show on Hulu make me cry every time I see it now? (Hint-my husband and I used to joke that that guy was my dad-and that cracked us up every time it came on TV)
That's the crazy thing about this whole situation. I knew/know who he was-but the 8 year old girl in the back of the brain doesn't. She is so sad that she'll never get a chance to hear her dad say "I'm sorry for not being around, and I'm proud of you." I keep hearing this little voice in my head ask the question "What was so wrong with me that you wouldn't even send me a letter?" Believe me, I know that I was better off but still, I am so sad for that part of me-and so amazed that it is still there, kicking around in the back of my head, waiting to just jump out, punch you in the gut then hide in the shadows for the next time you see the Southern Comfort ad or something. It is the most surreal thing in the world, for, I honestly never thought I would spend a minute feeling sad over his death, but here I am. Is it sadness for the death of a hope or an ideal that never would have been realized? Is it possible to mourn the death of someone who truly never seemed to bring anything but pain to those he was around? I don't ask these questions out of anger, I just truly don't understand.
That brings me to the past few weeks. I didn't realize how far it had gotten until I was deep in the hole. Last week, at one point, I was driving and realized that I hadn't felt anything-any emotion-in days. That was a scary thought. I was completely checked out of the world and didn't realize it until after it had happened. The scariest part of that, though, was that I didn't care at all. The thought hit me like I was thinking "Oh, I should pick up some milk on the way home" except it was "Oh, I haven't had a feeling in a while." But because I didn't have any emotion, I just kept driving and didn't think to mention it to anyone until a few days later, when I started to move through the feeling/not feeling thing. Now I'm working my way out, letting my feelings find their way to the surface, and doing what he never did-pulling the people close to me closer and letting them help me.
So, the big question is, what exactly am I mourning? Am I in mourning? As I said to my husband the other day "I have no idea what my feelings are doing right now!" I don't know-this is all new to me. I'll just keep him as a lesson in the back of my mind to love those who love you, live in hope, and keep a kind and open heart. I guess, if there is a bigger lesson to be learned from this whole situation, it's to pull your loved ones closer and let them know how much you love them, and to cherish the people, family or not, who encourage you to be a better person. As I work through that, though, I'll be heading back to the therapist's office to make heads or tails of this truly confusing and crazy situation so that some day I can just appreciate that great Southern Comfort ad for what it is-funny, weird, and strange.
