When my dad died in March 2003 I was slapped in the face with emotions I didn’t know what to do with. I hated my father. I hated that he stood for nothing. I hated that he was an alcoholic and a drug addict. I hated that he threw things at me and left me feeling helpless in traumatic situations. I hated what he did to our family. I was so unbelievably angry at him …and that anger was justified and made a little home within me.
After the divorce my brother and I had to spend two weekends a month at his place where we would mostly sit around eating beef jerky and playing old video games while dad slept off a hangover in the other room. When I was twelve years old I called him a loser to his face. He told me years later on a phone call how painful that was to hear from his daughter. Until then, I wasn’t sure he cared at all.
I wished him dead a hundred times. A thousand times maybe. And then it happened. He died. …And then I was sad.
What was I to do with all of these feelings? How could I be sad for a man that I hated so much …a man who had caused me so much grief from infancy? …a man who caused my family tremendous pain?
Though I saw him sick in the hospital a month before he passed, I did not go to his funeral. I couldn’t bring myself to go and to this day I do not regret that decision.
At the time of his passing, I was staying at my mom’s while the house that I had bought with my then fiance was being renovated …he was sleeping on an air mattress at his place of business and refused to join me at my mom’s. I had also finally admitted to myself that the severe anxiety and panic attacks I had dealt with for three years prior were all-consuming and preventing me from leaving the house and began taking medication to cope. The months {and year} to follow would soon prove to be more difficult than I could have imagined.
Living with my mom at that time put a strain on our once great relationship. My mom’s reaction to my dad’s death was odd to me at the time and our childhood dog {Rikki Sweatinose} passed soon thereafter. Even though she invited me to stay with her, she blamed me for bringing my three Boston Terriers and added stress into/onto the household causing the death of our beloved dog. I felt I had no other choice.
At the end of April 2003 our newly purchased house was renovated enough to live in the upstairs and be together again. We moved in and continued working on our house but by mid June, a week after my 27th birthday and over a year of engagement with zero wedding plans, our seven year relationship ended . . .and back to my mom’s I went until I could find a place of my own.
By this time, what used to be a really close relationship and friendship between mother and daughter was slowly rotting. The more I forgave my father for his ways the more I blamed my mother for hers and the tension between us grew very very thick.
I became to understand how distraught my father was. How his own demons ate away at him …and how his entire life was a stab at death. He was truly tormented and because his generation didn’t really express themselves but instead put on a fake smile and acted like everything was perfect, his only choice was to self medicate. I think it hit home when in a conversation with his wife months after his death she informed me that she had found a vile of cocaine in a shirt pocket recently when we all thought he was free of it, I felt pity instead of anger. I was no longer angry at what he had done to me but instead sad that he lived such a miserable existence and couldn’t break free of his mind. I started feeling bad that I hadn’t seen it sooner and given him more of a chance while he was alive.
…and like I said, the more I found peace with my father, the more I started seeing things in my mom that I had overlooked prior to his death. I blamed her for not allowing me to see my dad’s pain instead of being victimized by it. I saw things from my dad’s perspective and finally saw her part in the the divorce and realized that she, as much as she liked to believe it, was not fault-free. In fact, I started thinking it was more her fault than his but really, I was just placing my anger on her instead of him. I hadn’t freed myself of the emotions, I just put them on her.
A little over two years later, my mom could do nothing without me jumping all over her. Anything she said was wrong. Anything she did was stupid. She also was going through a tough time herself and because of our tension would absolutely say ridiculous things. I was mad that she couldn’t give me a wedding. I though she was judging my lifestyle. I found out some things about my childhood and wondered why she hadn’t been a better mother. Any family gathering was so tense everyone was just waiting for her and I to blow up and go off on each other.
I held onto this anger tight. I thought if I let go, if I forgave her, all would be forgotten. That those things I was angry about would be void and meaningless. If I let her off the hook I wouldn’t be able to be mad at anyone for the way my life turned out and I would actually have to take responsibility for my own choices and actions. I would have to accept that my life story was of my own doing and that was a hard one to swallow.
My mom got married last May and I didn’t go to the wedding. Just as I didn’t go to my father’s funeral. That was my last stance with her. I’m not sure why but that is where I ended it and started seeing my mom again …how I once did without the anger: as my mommy and my friend and my heart slowly opened up to her once again. It wasn’t over night but a slow softening and releasing and allowing her to be part of my life again.
The thing is, once I actually let go of that anger and holding onto those righteous feelings, they didn’t matter any more, it all melted away …and then I was truly free.
On Monday, I went over to my mom’s new place to just hang out with her. We looked at old magazines and sunned by the pool and decorated a bit and just chatted the day away like we used to. We could seriously chat from morning breakfast, through lunch time and then onto dinner, without blinking an eye. I had such a nice time and was so happy to be able to spend it with her.
She emailed me yesterday at work: subject line HEY MAEG! …and instead of rolling my eyes, I smiled and jumped to open it.
I emailed her back: I’m so glad we’re friends again. I love you.
And it couldn’t be any more true.
