Last night I had a marathon "chat" with my mother. marathon. I've never really openly expressed my feelings like that to my mother. And cried like that to her. It's just not how we are. We are tight, and we are VERY similar to each other. We don't like to show weakness or raw emotions to each other. Maybe it's a greek thing? who knows. But it all came out on the table last night.
It all came about because I saw some pictures of my dad. He looks like he is doing well. He has been in the hospital for throat cancer earlier this year. I haven't talked to him since right before he went in for chemotherapy. I felt like a coward. I felt like a coward for not talking to my father who had just been diagnosed with throat cancer. Apart from feeling like a coward and a bad daughter, I felt angry at him. HIM. This past year, with the passing of my *step* father, all of my issues about my *biological* father crept up to the surface. How he chose his fourth wife over his two daughters. How he chose the bottle of beer (actually, the cases of beer) over his family. How every time I try to forgive him for his absentee-ism and his brazen abandonment, I do well for a few months, and then I remember something from my child hood and I curse him.
Mostly, I realize that my father was incapable of raising children. He just was. We had some quality years when I lived with him. But I question if they were quality or just a show for the courts that he was better than my mother. Which will never EVER be true. And then it brings up the Jimmy thing. I consider him my father. flat out. I was raised by him. I was changed, fed and potty trained (on the trans-canada highway) by him. I was taught math and spelling by him. I was given my first motorcycle ride by him. I was given shit many many many MANY times by him. And it's sad and angering that my *biological* father never gave one tenth of a crap.
So, I have to release the burden of regret. Of feeling like a coward. I am not a coward, I am just a hurt little girl inside. But at least I got to have a father. When my real father could not be there for me. My mom said it really well. She said to me: "when I made the decision to leave your father, I just did it. I couldn't stay with him anymore. And then there was Jimmy." It was not months or years, but weeks. He took on the responsibility of a single mother and her two daughters *one ten, one just a baby* He didn't have to do that. He was on a death track when he met my mom. He was going to go on welfare and drink himself to death. That's what he chose. And then he met my mother. Here was a man who'd just lost his family and had his two children taken from him. *not because he was unfit, but because his ex was and still is a purely selfish and disturbed woman* It was kind of like fate.
My mom told me last night something about my young years that I didn't remember. When I used to come home from a weekend at my dads house, I would crawl up on Jimmy and refuse to leave his side. I would follow him around like a puppy for days after. I was getting something from him that I was not from my own father. Love. Affection. Attention paid to me. When I was at my dads, and especially when Jean entered the picture (step-mom) I was practically invisible.
Here is my revelation. I don't owe my biological father anything. But I will call him. I do have some kind of connection to this man and I do care about him. I will call him and see how he is. And maybe I can forgive him with that in mind. He did not have the capacity to raise a child. He didn't have the capacity to care about anything other than beer. And it's been that way for 40 or 50 years. Who was I to think I could change that. His first wife couldn't. His second wife and first daughter couldn't. His third wife, my mother and my sister and his first daughter couldn't do it as a family. And a 5 year old me, or a 10 year old me, or an adult me could never be a match for that kind of disease.
And that my friends concludes this installment of daddy-issues 101. Life is too short to hate. I just need to try and fill my heart with compassion for not just him, but everyone. Maybe that is the road to forgiveness.
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