My dad was a very patient man. He loved who he loved and he stood behind them without fail. In some aspects I am that exact same person. I've stood behind her all these years woefully unaware of the feelings that swirled around her. The hurt that she caused. She was never popular, she was never even well liked. And in the absense of my father these last four years have proved that matter of factly.
It's my mom's birthday today. She is 69 years old. My father lived 71 years. She is bitter that he is gone. She is sad that he is gone. I have those same feelings, but for different reasons. I miss my dad terribly. I miss that I can't listen to his long stories over and over again; I miss that I can't call him when I have a question about a home repairs anymore. I miss hearing him call me Kat. And I'm angry I am left here to deal with the misery my mother has become.
She says tonight that my dad let his family down. He didn't take care of himself and died. He was 71 years old and he had cancer, a lot of cancer. He wasn't outwardly sick for years, he didn't complain of pain. He was still working full time barely functioning, but somehow keeping it a secret to everyone. He was diagnosed with cancer on or around the first couple days of August and he died August 11th. He didn't complain, he didn't cry, he just quickly slipped away.
I remember one day in the hospital after we found out he was really that sick and it was just the two of us in the room. I cuddled up next to my dad on his bed. He held onto my wrist tightly as I put around his chest. I cried just then, laying next to him knowing what was next to come.
My family was never particularly affectionate. We didn't hug and kiss too much while I was growing up. It felt and still feels awkward to hug my mom. It's just not there, not in me. But that day it felt right. I needed my dad to know I loved him. He told he should have taken better care of himself. But my dad took care of himself as best he knew how. And even if he made mistakes, he drank too much, he smoked too much he still took care of his family best he could and never expected a handout.
Hearing my mom say that tonight was hurtful. I know she is upset that dad isn't here for another birthday. The alcohol doesn't help the mood either. Alcohol played a part in killing my father and it will surely play a role in eventual end of my mothers life. I guess she can't or won't see that connection. The fact that she is following the same path.
I can't get past this wall I have put up. I can't let myself feel bad for her anymore. Maybe I am being selfish myself. Alcoholism makes life kinda tough.
