I Hate Him...I Love Him...
My relationship with my father is one that should be seen through the eyes of a passenger on a plane...or an unmanned drone...or the man in the moon. For the observer's comfort it should be seen from a great height where there is not any chance whatsoever of innocently wandering close to the cracks.
At the risk of going to Hell or being stricken from the will I say this - my father spent a good portion of our lives together being both cruel and loving, with loving being the lesser of the pair. I have more memories of him being either emotionally absent or just plain mean than I have of him being loving. I desperately do not want all of these things to be true...my mother died a few month ago and Dad is still reeling from it...I feel like I'm betraying them both by thinking and writing this, but it's the truth. I hate that it's the truth, but in my lifetime of observations there are no happy families and each one has at least one member who shoulders the role of villain...meet my father.
I sat a few minutes ago and watched my father as an old man. At that moment he was defeated by life...his wife of almost 58 years died just a few days before that anniversary, his body is wearing out and the confusion that came after her death is not only lingering, but actually gaining strength. When I looked at that version of my father my heart swelled with sorrow and sympathy...but...in a flash he'd twisted what I was offering as support to be some sort of affront to him and attacking me for some unknown and unconnected reason. It's very sad to say this, but that is my real father...he has never been the man I see flashes of now.
Don't misunderstand...I truly believe his grief is real. Every bit of me believes the sadness and pain he feels at the loss of my mother. What I struggle with is reconciling this sad and old man with the one who inflicted so much pain on my mother and our family while she was alive. This is the man who had multiple affairs, who regularly demeaned her verbally, who treated my brother and I as though we were never good enough...and smiled to the world as though he were the amazing man he saw himself to be. When my mother died I saw him full of grief, humility, love, appreciation, generosity...slowly I've seen the grief giving way to his real self.
I hate him and I love him. I want to help him through this, but I'm tired of him attacking my efforts to do so. He turns on my brother as well...I'm a gently gently type and my brother is more bull in a china shop type, but we are doing our best and muddling through trying to help him through the loss like others do - blindly. While I think sometimes my father sees that we're both making the best effort we can, he can't help bring the old habits back and turn on us as we expose our soft underbellies.
I've been with him for a week and a half now and I can't wait to leave next week. I am tired of how the conversations have progressed from polite and loving to aggressive and sometimes attacking. I'm tired of offering sympathy and receiving comments about how we never got along or that I always ran away from the family (moving to England) and now have no right to have concern for them because I evidently never had any in the first place.
This post is so confusing because I am so confused...it all began years ago with a man who ruled his family with harsh words and tones, and is ending now with an old man offering about the same. The difference now is that he is in the throes of gutwrenching grief and he is also in the middle of some sort of confused state - dementia maybe...or maybe something triggered by the death of my mother. The most horrible thing is I look in his eyes when he's tossing out his current cruel barbs and I see the intent. I see him doing what he always did...attacking with his eyes and his body language and trying to scare me down. His grief hasn't changed him and I see that...yet I still hope.
I managed to avoid conflict with my father till I was about eighteen. A few things happened then...I graduated high school and rented a room from my father's employer, my father's employer told me she was having an affair with my father, my beloved maternal grandmother died, I broke down on the day my grandmother was buried and told my mother about the affair. I knew it was a horrible thing for him to do...I felt the betrayal as his daughter and as my mother's daughter, but I never realized the damage until I saw the look on my mother's face when I told her. I will never forget that look nor will I forget her saying through her tears - I know. I hated him. I hated him with every ounce of my being. I told my brother and his wife, and my brother spent many years avoiding both of my parents because he hated my father so much. I learned to hate him more after my mother told me he'd been unfaithful from the beginning. For a year I took every opportunity possible to argue with my father because it was the only voice my absolute rage had.
After a year full of conversations with my mother I gave up. She made her choice and somehow I had to make peace with that and move forward - to me it looked like she was the most betrayed and didn't care enough to do a thing about it. So I did my best to keep my temper and comments in check...I honestly don't know which of us would breakdown more often and challenge the resolve of the other. All I know is that as I grew into adulthood with a family of my own I only went so far until I stood my ground and showed him he wasn't going to have the opportunity to hurt or manipulate me like he did his wife. We were not the same person and I wasn't about to let him forget that.
My mother and I remained very close and after I divorced a philandering husband she often said she wished she'd had my courage. Those comments led to long and loving conversations about her life with Dad and how fear drove her decision to stay with him - the fear of being alone, with no source of income, of change. I had recently been through a divorce for the same reasons so I was able to understand every fear and emotion...I was a different person and it was a different time so I made a different decision. But I understood her better...I finally truly accepted that she had made her decision and was prepared to live with it. I never left my hate for him behind and not once did he try and earn back the respect he lost...but I did my best to bury it all and try even harder to keep the peace -- for her.
I want to make mention that my father could pull some loving tricks out of the bag at times as well. I was in a public speaking competition in high school and he wasn't able to get there on time because of a storm...he did manage to get there and he also sent me flowers. When I had a major surgery in my mid twenties he brought me a lovely stuffed animal that still sits on the bed in my house. The laptop I'm writing on now is a Christmas gift from him and he paid for two trips home when the economy went bust and I wasn't able to pay for them myself. When my mother died in Septmeber I spent three weeks with him in their home...those weeks were full of loving and true moments between us. I hate to say I'm suspect of most of them...I think my mother made him look better than he was a few times and when she died it was a man stunned who let his guard down and finally let the emotion come through - at least for a time. The times in my family life that were happy were all wrapped around my mother and my maternal grandparents...my father was often there, but he was never the one I associate any real happiness with. I often wonder if I've somehow rewritten my childhood to not include him in the happiness, but I don't think so. There are lots of photos and memories from friends that don't include him in many of the good times...even when he was part of them there was an anticipation I had of it all going wrong and Dad having one of his legendary outbursts.
One other thing to mention out of fairness -- My mother made one horrible error - she treated me like her girlfriend once I was privy to the affairs. She confided in me so many things that she'd been keeping bottled up for many, many years. I have no evidence at all of her telling any of her friends what happened...I became that friend. I would sit for hours and listen to her talk about my father and his treatment of her, but then be expected to take my son and go visit like a normal family. At some point my father took my more peaceful countenance as some sort of closeness between us...and he started confiding in me about my mother. I think he knew just what she was saying to me so he thought he'd get in on the action...and there I was hearing all of the horrible things about them and trying to be a good daughter to both of them.
I look back and see some of my actions as a direct result of all of this. Normally a daughter will gravitate to her family...she will want a home near them and for intense involvement from that family. Not me. I never sought to be away from my parents as a young married woman, but I never made any suggestions on the decisions in my marriage that might have had us closer in proximity to them. I spent time with them after my divorce, but I never reached out to them like most struggling daughters would. I chose to move to England and marry someone who would have happily come to the States to start a new life. With perfect hindsight I can see that I was looking to create some distance between myself and the mess that was my parents.
A few years before I moved to England tragedy struck...my mother had lung cancer and underwent major surgery to remove part of one of the lungs. A few years later another spot was found and chemo and radiation began. Not long after this I moved to another continent...all of my guilt starting to really boil inside me, but also finally a sense of freedom. Actually, the sense of freedom generated a good amount of guilt in itself. I didn't have to spend weekends with a man I largely didn't like and being the confidante of my mother's issues with the adultery committed against her by my father.
Growing up I loved him...I hated him...and never in equal measure. I think if he'd been a nicer and more loving person I would have more sympathy for him in this stage of his life. Sadly, the flashes of his old self are coming more and more often to the surface and my sympathy is running short. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever reconcile all of these parts of my life. I'm not looking for sympathy...I just don't know how I'm supposed to feel and if I do allow myself to feel a particular way, how to deal with the guilt.
The next evening...my brother, his kids and grandson came over for a late Christmas celebration...for days now my father had been going on and on about the many reasons he did not want to have this event for my brother's 'tribe'. He'd refused all of my offers to cancel the celebration, but carried on anticipating horrors on every front. And now my brother and his tribe have just left...the meal was wonderful and the time with the family was great. I'm happy to report that once everyone arrived and things were underway my father was fabulous. He picked at my oldest nephew a bit, but there's a clash there I will probably never understand. Other than that, he was wonderful and had all of us almost in tears watching him on the floor playing with his great grandson. A few minutes ago he told me he had a great time and thanked me for helping my brother get the meal and keep everything together, and for getting the house back to his standard of order when it was done. I thanked him for making such an effort helping tidy up the house and with everyone there...and I meant it. My mother would have been proud.
I don't know as I'll ever be able to reconcile all of the nuances of my relationship with my Dad, but I do know I have to keep trying. I do love him more than I hate him and I feel strongly that I need to keep trying and looking for the best in him for two reasons - my mother would be disappointed if I didn't, and it's the right thing to do.
My brother is turning into my new hero. He's an alcoholic who worries me to death, but he is doing his very best and with everything that's happened in the past he is not backing away from my father at all. One day I want to sit with him and talk about all of these things...now isn't the time, but one day it will be.
Mom...I hope you're able to see everything that's going on. I hope you're proud of us all and know in your heart that you're the bond between us, even after your death. I sure hope we do ok with all of this...it appears we're all trying our best.
