Its been 20 months since my dad died. Enough time has passed that I'm not locked in chronic, exhausting, painful grief. I feel that I'm definitely through the acute grief, but there are still so many issues left unresolved.
My dad was a difficult person. But also a passionate and caring person. He could be a lot of fun, but he was also very very high maintenance.
As the months roll by since his death, in one way I'm starting to feel a lot more peaceful and a lot less stressed out, as there's a definite reduction in "drama" in my life. My dad approached life in an extreme sort of way. Things were perfect, or horrible. People were amazing, or complete idiots. There were few shades of gray in my dad's world.
My dad was also extreme about himself. He had a penchant for self abuse, manifested by addictions to cigarettes, alcohol, and prescription/over the counter medications. I don't doubt that the sudden and shocking heart attack he suffered was due to a long term abuse of some pretty heavy duty tranquilizer medications. I worried for years about his lungs (his mother died of lung cancer and emphysema - she was a long term smoker) about his liver (he drank way too much), about his brain (he had drug tolerance/withdrawal seizures for years). I worried about him getting into an "impaired" accident, having such a strong dependency and a lot of use of a variety of substances. Ironically, I never worried about his heart. And it was a heart attack that killed him. On the downstairs couch, no less. What could be a safer place?
I hate to admit, but my dad's death has created a feeling of peace and relief with respect to his self destructive and dramatic side. I don't have to worry if he's going to fall off the wagon, and hold the rest of the family as emotional hostages. I don't have to put up with his sudden rage-moods, where he'd rant and rave at us, using us as his emotional "venting" receptacles. I don't have to hear about his subtle and not so subtle threats about him hurting himself, or worse. I don't have to hear him rant and rage at me, call me names, insult me (and others) or other painful experiences. That part of my life is over. Forever. And for that I'm grateful.
Don't get me wrong. I loved my dad, despite all his faults.
He had another side. He had a fun side which was equal in intensity to his dark side. He could laugh like nobody else, he had a bizarre, eccentric and "outside the box" sense of humour which was totally and completely in sync with mine. We had a lot of good times, a lot of big laughs. When things were good in our family, they were outstanding. I am often reminded in little ways about the fun things we did - our years as a family in the Air Cadet program, family trips and outings, fun meals and holidays.
I was thinking the other day about the fact that 20 months HAVE passed since his death, and how many new things have happened, that if he was to come back tomorrow he'd not really be up on everything that's happened in our lives. He wouldnt recognize my daughter, he wouldn't know that we have a new Prime Minister (he might be happy not to know about that one). He wouldn't know about my brother's new job (the fact that my brother finally got a job after years of joblessness). So many things he wouldn't know about. I wish I could just give him a call and an update, to hear his stupidly ridiculous and funny comments on life.
The pain of that part of the loss still takes my breath away. I'm still deeply sad, and can still break into sobs at the drop of a hat, to know that part of my relationship with my dad is over. Forever.
But you never knew which side was going to come through. And if some unforeseen event in my dad's world would set his mood off from the fun loving Peter to the destructive and angry and scared one. We lived, holding our breaths, for decades.
Time to breathe.
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3 comments:
Yup .. that was Doots in a nutshell. He was a walking contradiction .. one of the most selfless people I've ever known, who could be incredibly selfish. One of the most sensitive people I've known, who could be very thoughtless. One of the most angry people I've known, who could be incredibly gentle.
In later years, I tended to see him more as a bright, fragile kid who never really grew up. He often seemed most comfortable around kids .. I remember him and mom bringing cousin James to Brockville for a couple of weeks the year before he died, and how much of a kick he got out of Abby in the first few months after her birth.
But, yeah .. with adults, it was a different story. That 'black or white', 'right or wrong' type of mentality is common among alcoholics, and often feeds into the addiction. If things aren't exactly as he thought they should be, then why bother even trying, and the whole self-destructive thing would start again.
I do wonder, sometimes what he'd think of our lives now. I know he'd be proud of both of us .. me, for getting out of debt, getting back to work, the plays I've been in (he was always a big theatre fan, and came out to all the plays I was in), and he'd be super proud of you for learning how to be a parent, and for raising a pretty amazing little kid. And I know he would have loved Abby .. I think she would have cracked him up like few other kids .. I sometimes imagine him laughing at her antics .. if I think she's pretty funny, and I do, dad would have found her *hysterical*, and I think she would have had a lot of fun 'Abby Woba play 'gether'.
I'll see ya this weekend .. have a good one.
Your conflicting emotions make total sense to me. If you had contradictory feelings about your dad when he was alive, it seems natural you'd still experience them now that he's passed away.
One thing I've really admired about you and Chris is that neither of you have taken the revisionist approach to remembering your dad. It think it's great that you can acknowledge that he had flaws and struggles, as well as many good characteristics. Most of all, I think it's great that you can remember how much you loved him.
Loving your dad and feeling relieved that you're free of the worry and conflict are two totally separate issues in my mind.
*hugs*
re: "I wonder what he'd think of our lives now"....
I would bet all my money that he'd think the same of us that he did before he died. All at once he'd be happy, proud, excited, but he'd still be worried, stressed, obsessed and selfish about his own life and focussed on himself and mostly blind to everyone else. Same old same old! No major surprises I would expect.
I hope you don't think that somehow what happened in our lives now (your job, my motherhood) or something else that we *might* have done or will still do in our lives would have made him "better" or happier? It's a really unhealthy approach for us (classic codependent/alcoholic family trait) for us to believe that somehow we could have "helped" or "saved" him. That belief didnt help us or him when he was alive, and we shouldn't buy into it now. Don't have any regrets about what you did or didn't do while you were alive. There's nothing that we could have done or not done that would have changed anything about him and his attitude towards life or about us. There is nothing that anyone else can do to change the mind of an addictive personality - its only the addict himself that has to come to some kinds of realizations for himself and make changes.
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