When I was a wee one, I idolized my dad. He was strong, he was protective, and he was kind. When I got just a bit older, it became obvious he had a temper. Most of the time, everything was fine, but every now and then he'd blow up and it terrified my mom, my sisters and me. When I started high school, things got progressively worse.
I've listed a bunch of stuff he did in the past, and I don't really want to remember it right now. By the time I got to college, I think he was at his worst. I avoided going home, and my sisters and I begged Mom to get a divorce. When the divorce actually happened, there was a restraining order and I reached the apotheosis of my anger. I didn't speak to him for a year. The restraining order didn't involve calls, so he called the house quite a bit to talk to my mom. If I answered the phone, I'd scream at him to go to hell. Every night I prayed for him to die. A few times he was on the brink, and I wanted him to tip over the edge so badly.
After a whole lot of therapy, a diagnosis of bipolar disorder, (for dad and I both), and many delicious pills, I felt better, and started rebuilding my relationship with him. It was a slow process, and when I did spend time with him, I felt like I had to fake my affection. I always kind of felt like that, even up to the end. I could never forget the evil things he did, but at the same time I remembered what a good man he used to be. It was hard for me to understand why he was the way he was, but more recently, it became kind of obvious. Mental illness, combined with a lifetime of physical pain, (beginning with a TERRIBLE car accident when he was in high school) and a subsequent addiction to pain medication, made him deteriorate quickly.
He was so intelligent when he was younger, and during his career as a tool and dye specialist, he traveled the world, helping develop plastics, primarily in Germany and Austria. He could have been anything he wanted. He was a brilliant musician, and although he couldn't read music, he was a master and could play anything by ear. Banjo, violin, guitar, basically anything with strings.
As his health declined, it got harder for him to play, and he gave it up for a long time. He started playing with a band again a few years ago, which brought him a lot of joy.
The more he crumbled, the more he isolated himself from any friends he had. He hyped up and made up stories that made him look like some sort of super hero. It would be easy to say he was just a delusional braggart, but I don't think he could handle the idea of becoming feeble, and he spent so much time in this dream world, that it became real to him.
A lot of people have asked why I didn't confront him about stuff he did to us in the past. I honestly think it would have literally killed him. His delusions kept him from realizing what a tragedy his life was, and how horribly alone he was. I know he had glimpses of reality, and seeing his reaction to those periods of lucidity broke my fucking heart, and I don't mind that he leaned on drugs and fantasy to keep going.
Talking with his girlfriend Deb today was like a knife in my heart. At one point he was considering doing meth. She freaked out at him and told him to get rid of it or she was out of there. He threw it out, sat down in his recliner and broke into tears, sobbing "please don't leave me alone." I completely lost it and had to have my sisters and brother in law take me to Tron's house. I cried uncontrollably until I fell asleep on him.
I got that same heartbreak when we went over to the house to kind of make amends with our insane aunt. She had some pictures of him sitting out. He was so happy in all of them, and when I got to one of him grinning from ear to ear with me sitting on his lap, I just thought I would die. I haven't been able to really stop crying since then.
It's like a Shakespeare tragedy. Everything seems so senseless and avoidable, but in the end it all turns to shit and you're left wondering why.
I seem to do okay until I think about how lonely was. I just can't take it. I didn't think this day would be so hard. I've expected it to happen for the last 5 years. Now that it's actually happened, I feel crushed and empty.
I'm finding some solace remembering the last couple of times I talked with him. The most recent was the beginning of June. I was cat sitting for my fucking bitch of a cousin, (long story), and he came over to visit. I was working on accounting, so we talked a little about my classes. He talked about himself for a long time, which I was fine with since I know he didn't have anyone to talk to. At one point, after telling some story about how good he was at something, he stopped, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He said, "God, why did you do this to me?? ......... you didn't, I did this to myself. I had this coming." That was one of his lucid moments. I couldn't take it and I started bawling. I spilled my guts to him. I told him I'd been mad at him for so long, and hated him at times, but that seeing him lose everything and spend his days miserable and lonely made me sick with sadness. He wiped my tears away and said he loved me, and that no matter what, he'd always be proud of all of us girls. We cried together for awhile, then both got a little more light hearted, and he went home. We had talked for about 3 hours.
Not long after that I was sitting at home, thinking of childhood shit, and I had to call him. I couldn't stand it. I told him I just called to say I appreciated him, and that through all the bullshit and misery, I remembered all the good things he did, and the times he literally saved out lives. Like the time one of our bulls had Tyne pinned up against the fence. Dad ran straight at him and plowed him over. He literally knocked the bull off of its feet. There was another time we were out in the barn, and one of our iron tamping posts had fallen over and was going straight for my head. I didn't notice until I saw Dad's hand come out of nowhere. He had seen it and ran up and grabbed it before it hit me.
When Alexis fell off the hay elevator and fractured her skull, Dad kept Tyne and I calm. I called 911 and he stayed with her in the barn, completely calm, making sure her head was stabilized and that no one moved her until the ambulance got there.
There were other times that I don't remember, but have heard stories about.
While I was telling him about the things I remembered him doing for us, we both cried again. He didn't stay on the phone long, but I was glad I had called. That was the last time I talked to him before he died. I bought him a father's day card, but I never took it over to him. I asked the funeral home to burn it with him.
The night after he died, I couldn't sleep. Mom couldn't either. We just stayed up and talked. We were talking about how behind he was on all of his payments, and Mom mentioned something my aunt's boyfriend had said. Dad was too proud to ask for help. It used to be that he'd call Mom when he needed help figuring out a budget or something, but as bills piled up, and he lost control, he couldn't bring himself to ask anymore. I can't be mad at him for leaving so much debt, and letting his life insurance lapse. I just can't. All I can think about is him, alone, trying to pay his bills, but constantly being hounded for money by my cousin or other leaches that saw him as an easy mark. What was he going to do? Help his niece or pay the water bill? He helped his niece. He helped people he thought needed him. Once, when he knew I needed some money but knew I wouldn't ask, he said to me, "I want to give you this. I want to help you, because you never ask me for anything. You're independent, just like me."
I thought I slept last night. I hadn't slept in about 30 hours, so I took 3 Ambien out of desperation since 3 am rolled around and I still couldn't keep my eyes closed. I thought I slept, but Mom told me I was yelling out in my sleep all night. Bryan said I calmed down around 8 am. Mom still couldn't sleep and was up and around all night, and she said at one point she put her hand on me and asked if I was alright. I don't remember any of this, but apparently I told her no. And I'm not. I'm trying to be, but I have this overwhelming feeling of guilt that I'm having problems with. I need to go see Peg, my therapist. She knows all about my situation. She was my therapist during the worst of things, and helped me get past the uncontrollable anger I felt. I need her to help me again. Should I have made more of an effort to keep him involved in my life? Is it ok that I was still kind of mad at him? How the hell do I work through all of these goddamn contradictions?? I HATE HATE HATE feeling this way. I wish someone would give me a pill to make me stop feeling. I wish I could have seen him before he died.
On the car ride home tonight, I took the opportunity to really let stuff out. I cried, hard. I screamed and screamed and screamed until my throat hurt and I thought I would puke. I'm in pain, and I don't know what to do.
I love you, Dad. I'm going to miss you.
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