And Then There Was Dad (15th Post)

 My family was as big of a puzzle to unravel as my personal mission had been to solve the puzzle of me. I yearned for relationships with both my immediate and extended family. However, apparently, they did not. First, my Father; this is a synopsis. On top of having to deal with undiagnosed TBI, I also had to address a difficult relationship with my father. My father was estranged from his family. He rarely contacted and/or visited his parents or 2 brothers and 2 sisters. I met his family once. I was 4, and the memory is like a single snapshot. Whenever I questioned my father about his family and/or his life prior to his marriage to my mother, he would always reply “there is not much to tell.” On rare occasions, when he actually shared specific information about this issue, the very brief descriptions consisted of stories of abuse or deprivation. The only interaction with extended family I eventually learned of was a strange one.

One day while I was at college, my mother contacted me by phone. She reported my father had suddenly left to visit his sister, he had not seen or talked to his sister for 42 years, apparently did not call ahead, but simply appeared on her doorstep. According to my mom, he came back very upset. He stated he could not understand why his sister had been reluctant to invite him in and she kept the visit brief. That was all my mother shared, and I never heard anything further about the visit. As a child and later a teenager, I went to great lengths to establish a relationship with my father. Dad mostly rebuffed my efforts. I attempted to discuss his lack of involvement and engagement. His response to my query was always the same. He would look at me and say “I give you a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food to eat, what more do you want?”  I would attempt, to tell him but he would just walk away. Even in the face of failure, I still wanted him to be involved in my life and to show an interest in who I was. So for years….and years….I was always on the lookout for ways to bond with him, and he was always able to thwart my efforts. He knew what I had wanted, and he made it clear he was not pleased with my attempts.

For example, as a teen, I asked him to teach me how to drive. He agreed but at the end of our first lesson, he told me I had a lead foot and that made it impossible for him to teach me how to drive. Since there was no driver education at school at that time, he suggested I attend a driving school. At that time, I was working as a salesgirl in a department store after school, and on weekends, for spending money. Resigned and disappointed I followed through on his advice and used my paycheck for driving lessons. The driving instructor turned out to be kind and patient, and I learned how to drive. He never once told me I had a lead foot. The driving instructor was stunned when he learned I was paying for my own lessons.  And, at my last lesson, he told me his graduation gift to me was not to charge me for the lesson. And then there was my short career in the broad jump sport at school. I was really good at the broad jump. I made it to the state finals. I was so excited and believed my coach when he said I could win first place. Right before my jump, my dad called me over to him. I thought he was going to wish me luck. Instead, he told me to throw the competition. I was stunned, hurt, and sick to my stomach. I did not know what to say, so I convinced myself if I lost, this will build the bond with my father. I botched my jump. Not only did it not build a bond with my dad, but my coach was surprised and furious with me. My dad had cut my wings before I could fly. He betrayed my hope, made his point, I was so sad and unhappy I never jumped again.

Unfortunately, this was the gift that just kept giving. I attended Massage Therapy School. Due to my undiagnosed TBIs, in Anatomy class, I struggled with spelling and punctuation of most of the body’s makeup. My teachers were kind and worked with me. I received a 100 on one anatomy test. My teacher knew I loved the stars and moon and decorated my test with star and moon stickers. And yes, to this day, I kept every test they decorated. So, after receiving the grade, silly me, I was so excited I called home to tell my parents. When my dad heard the news he said to me "Why did you get every question correct - the teachers now think you cheated.” By now, I had had therapy, so I responded, I think they will just think I studied hard. He disagreed. I ended the phone call. Note to self: not a great idea to share success with dad. My father rarely asked me about my life. When I volunteered information, he came across as aloof and uncomfortable. A part of me sensed he must have had a very tragic childhood. A different part of me really, really wanted to figure out how to have a relationship with him. These two parts worked too hard for too many years to convince him to bond with me. As the years progressed, he began to respond in passive/aggressive ways, meaning he did not work hard to bond with me. Instead, he made it clear bonding was not going to happen between us. It was not just me he responded to in this matter. There were others family members. When my mom died my father left my brother-in-law’s name out of my mother’s obituary. Even as he lay dying, he still devised ways to strike back at my love for him. However, little did he know how strong and how me I had become. As my father lay dying in the hospital, he instructed my older sister not to tell me he was dying. He knew I would immediately come to see him, say goodbye, and he did not want me to have that opportunity. Sadly, my sister took the bait and did as he requested. Actually, she also followed in his footsteps and worse.  She never called me. Three days after my father died my brother-in-law called me at work (of all places).  He told me dad had died, and the funeral was in two days. He told me there would not be a public viewing - just a burial. Which made sense to me. At that time, my father did not have friends and was still estranged from his family. Prior to the burial, I attended the reading of my father’s Will. I knew he would leave me nothing, I was right. However, he did leave me a surprise. He said in the Will I was not his daughter. Of course, I am. As I sat in silence in the lawyer’s office I realized he included this to have the last word. This was a final way of saying he did not want to bond with me. When he wrote that statement in the Will he had been so sure of himself, and having had no knowledge of me, he never saw what was coming straight for him - ME. I left the lawyer’s office and called the funeral parlor.  I requested an open casket private viewing. At the viewing, I stood over my father’s body. I talked to him. I gave him back all the sorrow and pain he had intended for me to keep. And then when I finished talking I leaned over the coffin and kissed his forehead. Then as best I could, I put my arms around him and hugged him. As I walked away I said to him - sorry old man I have the last word, not you. And I knew he was angry I got to have the last word. Yay me! I attended the burial and headed back home. I felt complete. I could not think of another thing I wanted to do or say to him. I was left feeling eternally grateful I had worked through all the pain in therapy. There was nothing was left to do.

When people ask me if I miss my father, I tell them no as he did not do anything to make me miss him. I don’t hate my father. I feel sorry for him that he had such a horrible childhood. And it is sad he did nothing to change himself into a better father.  I have about 5 good memories of him. The sad thing is my favorite memory is one he told me. After my 2nd head injury, he told me he sat by my bedside for 2 days and 2 nights. That is a lovely memory, right?  It is sad I cannot remember it myself. 

I rarely think about him. I have no need to visit his grave. I feel at peace and relief I no longer have to deal with him. I have accepted it was what it was. I know I did my part. However, it takes two willing people to make a relationship. I have two photos that were taken of me at age 2. In the first photo, I am sitting on a park bench by myself. I am looking straight ahead at something.  My dad is standing directly behind me. In the next photo, I have turned halfway around and am holding myself up by one hand holding tightly to the back of the bench. I am looking to the right and at the same time trying to stand up. My father is no longer standing behind me. I am all by myself in the photo, I am looking for him. Whenever I look at those 2 photos, my eyes become moist. To me, they simply tell the story of me and my dad. In the first photo, he is not touching my shoulder or holding my hand as he stands behind me. I am keeping myself sitting upright. He is just there, and then in the next photo he is gone, and I am trying to find him. The rest of my life has been the third photo, only I never knew it at the time. I do now, and that makes all the difference in my world.  Like my TBI mission, I never gave up trying to find a way to come to terms with my father. I am eternally grateful for all the hard work I did in therapy to bring peace of mind to concede to this relationship. I can now say I solved and more than that, I resolved the puzzle of him.