blindbeth67
Grounded in Understanding
It was two days after Christmas when my mother woke us up that fateful morning thirty something years ago. My sister and I had started sleeping in the same room again. There was no discussion about it - we just needed the comfort the nearness of another person can provide. I was twelve and my sister was eleven.
I remember the look on my mother’s face. Her eyes were swollen. Her lips pursed.
“I have good news and bad news. The good news is your father is no longer suffering. The bad news is he is gone."
The rest of the day felt like a dream. How could he be dead? We had just spent Christmas Eve with him and he was laughing and having fun. He didn't look like a man about to die.
My father had brain cancer. He was 36 years old when he died. His body withered quickly from the chemo and radiation. When the will was read, my sister and I were too young to understand the shock my mother faced. Later, we’d learn my father left my sister and I almost nothing, but chose instead, to leave most everything to my step-mother.
As I grew up and became a mother, I then understood the magnitude of that decision and became hurt about how little my father left us. How do you not take care of your children - especially when you know you are dying? It left me feeling confused and angry. I loved my children so much that I couldn’t imagine not being sure they were taken care of.
Bitterness became so real I could taste it. My father’s family had quit calling soon after the funeral and our step-mother had quickly remarried. We reached out several times but it felt awkward and forced. It was just easier to stay away and let the anger simmer.
Over the years and despite my disappointments, I’ve never quit missing my father. Several months ago, my father’s sister sent some pictures to me that she’d found. There were pictures of my parents together in a time before I had a memory. And there were pictures of that last Christmas. They took my breath away. In those pictures, my father looked swollen, pale, and sickly. Not at all like the picture in my memory.
For me, time has healed a lot of wounds and I think I understand why he didn’t leave us much in his will.
He didn’t plan on dying.
And for that I can forgive him.
~~
This is me.
Grounded in understanding.
And still missing my dad.
Now You Workshop
Summer 2012
This weeks focus: Roots and Wings
And telling the backstory
If you read all that, then I am truly impressed. It was cathartic to write.
Grounded in Understanding
It was two days after Christmas when my mother woke us up that fateful morning thirty something years ago. My sister and I had started sleeping in the same room again. There was no discussion about it - we just needed the comfort the nearness of another person can provide. I was twelve and my sister was eleven.
I remember the look on my mother’s face. Her eyes were swollen. Her lips pursed.
“I have good news and bad news. The good news is your father is no longer suffering. The bad news is he is gone."
The rest of the day felt like a dream. How could he be dead? We had just spent Christmas Eve with him and he was laughing and having fun. He didn't look like a man about to die.
My father had brain cancer. He was 36 years old when he died. His body withered quickly from the chemo and radiation. When the will was read, my sister and I were too young to understand the shock my mother faced. Later, we’d learn my father left my sister and I almost nothing, but chose instead, to leave most everything to my step-mother.
As I grew up and became a mother, I then understood the magnitude of that decision and became hurt about how little my father left us. How do you not take care of your children - especially when you know you are dying? It left me feeling confused and angry. I loved my children so much that I couldn’t imagine not being sure they were taken care of.
Bitterness became so real I could taste it. My father’s family had quit calling soon after the funeral and our step-mother had quickly remarried. We reached out several times but it felt awkward and forced. It was just easier to stay away and let the anger simmer.
Over the years and despite my disappointments, I’ve never quit missing my father. Several months ago, my father’s sister sent some pictures to me that she’d found. There were pictures of my parents together in a time before I had a memory. And there were pictures of that last Christmas. They took my breath away. In those pictures, my father looked swollen, pale, and sickly. Not at all like the picture in my memory.
For me, time has healed a lot of wounds and I think I understand why he didn’t leave us much in his will.
He didn’t plan on dying.
And for that I can forgive him.
~~
This is me.
Grounded in understanding.
And still missing my dad.
Now You Workshop
Summer 2012
This weeks focus: Roots and Wings
And telling the backstory
If you read all that, then I am truly impressed. It was cathartic to write.