October 10, 2005
The date is my parents' anniversary. It is also the day my father died.
This afternoon I'm heading over to Indianapolis for the preparation, the Calling, the funeral, and the burial. I will be delivering one of two family eulogies. I don't know what my brother Ed will say, and I suspect we won't overlap.
Yesterday I wrote a set of remarks that I don't know if I will use. In writing a couple of pages, I realized that I still have a lot of anger in me directed toward my father. I have no intention of disrespecting his memory. I also have no intention to sugar-coat him.
Yet, what is the truth about him? What is the truth about anyone at the time of their death? We're each composites; we show different faces to the world, and to ourselves, at different times. Family sees us in ways that outsiders never can. Children see their parents in ways no one, not even the parents, can understand or expect. Children are very perceptive, very forgiving, very judgmental, and very cruel. And even though we grow up and take on careers and families of our own, at some primal level we remain children to our parents and children with our parents. We have expectations of them that they can never fulfill. We just never see our parents as people, just as parents often have trouble seeing their children as adults and peers.
Last night, as I was laying in bed before going to sleep, I got so angry with my father. Actually, the anger was welling up at old faults, slights, and hurts. It was anger at the man he was when we both were much younger rather than at the man he had become before disease robbed him of his personality. And I realized that this anger has been with me a long time. Even though I have done a lot of emotional work on my relationship with him and my anger, I see now that this work will never end.
Meanwhile, I'm off to Indy soon for an emotional few days.
This afternoon I'm heading over to Indianapolis for the preparation, the Calling, the funeral, and the burial. I will be delivering one of two family eulogies. I don't know what my brother Ed will say, and I suspect we won't overlap.
Yesterday I wrote a set of remarks that I don't know if I will use. In writing a couple of pages, I realized that I still have a lot of anger in me directed toward my father. I have no intention of disrespecting his memory. I also have no intention to sugar-coat him.
Yet, what is the truth about him? What is the truth about anyone at the time of their death? We're each composites; we show different faces to the world, and to ourselves, at different times. Family sees us in ways that outsiders never can. Children see their parents in ways no one, not even the parents, can understand or expect. Children are very perceptive, very forgiving, very judgmental, and very cruel. And even though we grow up and take on careers and families of our own, at some primal level we remain children to our parents and children with our parents. We have expectations of them that they can never fulfill. We just never see our parents as people, just as parents often have trouble seeing their children as adults and peers.
Last night, as I was laying in bed before going to sleep, I got so angry with my father. Actually, the anger was welling up at old faults, slights, and hurts. It was anger at the man he was when we both were much younger rather than at the man he had become before disease robbed him of his personality. And I realized that this anger has been with me a long time. Even though I have done a lot of emotional work on my relationship with him and my anger, I see now that this work will never end.
Meanwhile, I'm off to Indy soon for an emotional few days.
posted by Tom | 10:57 AM
2 Comments:
This comment has been removed by the author.
The beginning of my comment was missing, try this again. My heartfelt condolences Tom on the loss of your dad. Like Billy, who struggled with alcoholism since the age of 12, I hope they both have found peace. I learned one thing from Billy's struggle, I'm not waiting until I'm dead to find my peace.
Like you, I grew up with an alcoholic parent, my mother, who still at the age of 79 starts her morning with vodka and cranberry. She has always blamed me because she got pregnant with me at age 16, and she's been cruel to me through my life. But, I can hardly blame her. It had to have been hard to be the stepdaughter of an Evangelist and sent off to a home for unwed mothers.
I'm taking care of me for the first time in my life. If I'd been taken care of me all along I would have quit my physically demanding job sooner than I did. Now 3 surgeries later and all 7 cervical vertebrae are titanium, I lost a year to being bedridden, and the surgeon informed me that I needed a rod placed up the rest of my spine. But on the other hand, I could be wheelchair bound from the massive stroke if not for the good muscle tone I have from the physically demanding job. Learning to walk, eat, bathe, etc, etc, etc, was strenuous and painful.
But the first step in finding peace for myself was to make peace with the little girl in me and all her hurt, anger and pain. This step took 3 years with my psychiatrist and was one of the hardest things I've done but oh was it so worth it. I forgave my mother and my stepgrandfather.
Your Dad chose the sweetest day (their anniv) to leave this life and be reunited with your Mom. Rest In Peace.
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