Two days before my mother died of cancer she asked, "You're not going to call your father, right?" They have divorced 37 years but their hostility towards each other never goes away.
"It's not important now, Mother." I came out of my mind with stress and sadness, I wanted her to die with a sense of peace and the subject of her ex-husband would not take us there.
"Well, he never loved you like I did." Okay, that's right; but it's not easy to show love from a distance of 1,700 miles, which is the distance between us for most of my childhood. Between the ages of 4 and 19 I saw my father once, for my summer visit I was 10 years old.
My mother went on to say she did not want me to call my father because she was worried I'd get hurt. He mentioned that I was "screwed," after returning from one such visit. I told him that I was fucked because I missed my dad so much. My father's topic has never been easy. I felt I had to take my mother's side against half of myself.
During that visit I would say to anyone, even a grocery clerk, "That's my father." Often a day I will call, "Dad?"
He replied, "Yes, dear?"
"Oh, it is okay." Anything to get his attention. Dad said - weird and new and mine.
Some facts: my parents divorced in the 1960s when I was young. My father paid $ 50 a month for child support, which was not much even then, and sometimes he did not pay at all. Needing financial and family support, my mother moved us from Montana, where my father lives, to Michigan. What took up space where my dad might be; the terrible longing for love, is another story. Broken heart. Life changing.
My mother never remarried after the divorce. He works very hard; sometimes working two jobs to make ends meet - as a manager at the bank during the day and even as a hostess in the restaurant some nights. He progresses in his career, and the pressure becomes poor caving. Finally, he even bought a house. I am very grateful for the work ethic he taught me. But we, the kids at home alone, it's hard. Since I only heard the side of his story, just looking at his fight, it was easy to join him against my dad.
Like everything, this is more complicated than that. My father remarried twice, has a new family. Stepfamily. Of the few gifts I received from him as a child, one of them is a portrait of himself surrounded by his new family. At Christmas time we often receive generic cards with Christmas letters copied with news of "their children," who neglect to include anything about their children. It seems my father did not fight to have a relationship with his children. I became more angry and angry, an emotion much easier to live than hurt.
My father was a working class man with no legal choice and that was not his way of defending himself.
But all parents, regardless of sex, need full custody, opportunity to nurture. Women's rights, men's rights, children's rights, human rights; it is complex and interdependent.
Although that's not true, I really believe my dad never thought of me. I just want him to want me.
I am a girl raised without a father and all the things that go with it - wanting the attention of men, low self-esteem, an unreliable sense of self. I internalized this into my chaotic pattern and made mistakes. Who I am all to me; my parents are not responsible for my decision.
I called my dad after my mother died. That was eight years ago. He invited me to meet him at a family reunion. I can only imagine how frightening it is to him; to arrange a meeting with his daughter who has shown anger at her for years and then cut off all contacts.
My reunion day walked into the grange hall filled with people, crowded with families; my father is the oldest of the twelve. I saw my father immediately; high, slightly bent, gray hair, pressed shirt, bright blue watery eyes. I was surprised by the gentleness I felt for her.
My father is 82 years old and suffers from some dementia. "Who is your mother?" He asked me during a recent visit.
"Susan." My mother is his second wife. He's been married to his fourth wife for about 30 years, but his memory touches like a stepping stone.
"Oh, what happened to her?"
"Dad, he died years ago." I could feel the anxiety in my body, trying to breathe it.
"He's horrible ..." He even compared it to Eva Braun in a previous conversation, totally losing his own affiliation with Hitler.It's probably funny on TV.
I have to stay calm. "Do not talk bad about him, he dies and it hurts me. After all, he also never said anything good about you. "Fortunately, the subject changed.
The conversation did annoy me, but he was sick, he was older, and their war was not really about me. I do not care to judge mistakes. It's been 47 years; I'm more of a parent's divorce, but when they keep bringing it up, what should the kids do?
This is a very long and imperfect process, but I have forgiven my father for abandoning me, for not giving me everything I think I deserve, and forgiving myself for bearing my own anger and abandoning it for years. I have to keep forgiving both of us for everything that has emerged since then; like a conversation about my mom. I forgive him again when he fails to achieve my goals; forgive myself when the hatred lingers on me and I stay away.
It will never be what should happen. There is a distance - 40 years lost, and there are still 580 miles between us.
What I have now, almost too late: a great family, a time of grace, our easy love, unexpected freedom in my heart, which is a kind of self-love.
A woman with a loving father, a woman like that may just pick a good partner company rather than a person who shows a lot of superficial attention; the person who loves him for who he is more than what he looks like. Such a woman might take the risk, believe in herself. He may walk a little higher in the world.