My Dad is Dead - Parts 1-4

Time doesn't heal all wounds, it just changes our view of the scars.

About a year ago, I found out about the death of my dad. It had happened sometime prior. and some of my connections here on LinkedIn asked me how I felt. So I decided to post about it. And once I did, I received quite a number of direct messages, most of which were to express gratitude, as well as several follow-up questions.

As a result, I realized there was much more to be said, and it became a 4 part series. After a little bit of editing, here is that series.

???????? 1 - ?????????????????????? ???? ?????????? ?????????????? ????

My dad is dead. In fact, he died some time ago, though I only recently found out. Someone asked how I felt. And the truth is, that I don't. I wish that I did, and I think that that's the sad part.

Years ago, I helped him move onto a boat. Not a houseboat, an actual boat. We spoke about sailing through the Panama Canal together, going around Cape Horn, the southernmost tip of South America, then working our way back toward San Francisco. We looked over some maps, and talked about all the places we wanted to visit, as well as all the things we hoped to experience.

Then I didn't hear from him for 30 years...

About 7 years ago, a cousin got in touch with me, and told me that my dad was going to be visiting him. I asked him to give my dad a note with my phone number, let him know that I had no hard feelings toward him, and that I was willing to talk and meet with him. He could tell me whatever he wanted, and whatever he didn't want to share was fine.

He never called...

A few years later, his sister called me and told me that my dad was close to dying, imploring me to reach out to him. I took down his number and called. We ended up speaking for a few minutes, then arranged to meet.

He was very apologetic; tearful even. I told him not to worry about it, that I'm not his judge, and we all have our own things that we have to deal with. After about 10 minutes, we ran out of things to say. Unfortunately, we were still waiting for our food...

Over the next few years, we met a few more times. Whenever I returned to the Bay Area, I would get in touch, though he never once tried to reach out on his own, and usually didn't bother to return my calls. Fresh after the death of his mother, a maternal uncle told me that the thing he was most grateful of, was that at least he cared. He hadn't thought that he would, as she was largely absent from his life. But he cried as a result of her loss, and it was the very pain that he felt that provided his strongest salve of console.

I can't imagine that I will ever share that sentiment for my father, but nonetheless I have found my own form of consolation. He gave me my love of travel; the unquenchable thirst for the open road, the love of the unknown, and the curiosity to thrive among the unfamiliar. He taught me to think deeply about what I love; to appreciate the consequences of my decisions. The effect that my actions will have on not only myself, but how they can affect others as well. Also to remember that consequences can be positive, and that I should strive to see that they are.

I don't believe that I will ever have it in my heart to miss him. But neither do I have it in my heart to resent him. And it's not because I've reached some noble emotional plateau. I just don't want to feel bitterness toward him, and I'm happy it hasn't reared up its head.

???????? 2 - ???????? ??????????!

Sometimes the people that we want to love us never really do, or at least not in the way that we wanted. Hopefully, we find those that do love us, are willing to offer us support, and can put up with our crap.

To some extent, we never truly get over things. And that's not always a bad thing. Where it does become a problem, is when we stop trying to work through them, and worse, when we try to pretend like they don't exist.

Since I first posted about my dad, I've received many touching messages from people expressing appreciation, even gratitude for doing so, and in the process several things have sprung to mind.

My parents essentially split up when I was about 1 year old, so I have no real memory of them being together, and I never really developed a bond with my dad. The bond I had with my mother, however, was quite strong. My stepfather found out on the day that they married....

He was about 27 years old, and stood an athletic 6 foot 3. I was 6 years old, and had to stretch to hit 4 feet! A very dangerous height for him, as his butt quickly found out when he ceremonially smashed some cake in my mom's face!

I saw it from across the room and didn't know that it was a tradition. I ran straight for him, and without even slowing down, I full speed latched onto his butt like an angry pit bull, even biting through both his trousers and his skin!

He screamed, and frantically spun around; desperately trying to grab me. It was only after my mom begged me to release him that I decided to let him live. He cried for all the wrong reasons on his wedding day, but he never dared raise a hand to her in my presence again!

That out of the way, I would say that he became the father that I'd never had, though I only got to have that for a little over 3 years. And while 3 years was too short, it was 3 years longer than many others ever get. He gave me my love of baseball, and is the reason why I'm now prone to say that my heart is held together by 108 red stitches.

After they divorced, my mom had a nervous breakdown, and was no longer able to care for me. One thing that I will never fully process is that feeling of rejection, hopelessness and terror that flooded my 10-year-old heart and mind, when my parents sat me down and told me that I was going to be leaving the security of my mother, and moving in with my father.

Etched in my memory is my mom crying in despair, while my dad laughed with glee. When I carefully reflect on it, I think that his happiness was born of wanting to fill the void that his own childhood had created, and his hope that this would be the opportunity for us to draw closer.

That's not the way that it worked out, however.

P.S. -Both my dad and my stepfather were named Norman. If your name is Norman, stay away from my mom. My teeth are still quite strong and sharp!

???????? 3 -?????? ???????? ???????? ?????????? ?????? ??????????

While sitting in my aunt's living room outside of Las Vegas, she described how my dad was "terrorized" by his own father. Once he reached 16 years of age, he grabbed everything he could carry, and jumped on his motorcycle, leaving his parents home for good. I have no idea how he managed to survive or support himself for the next several years, but by the time I was born 6-7 years later, he had established himself as an expert in carpentry.

Looking back, I'm able to clearly see how he was plagued by his own fears, insecurities, and his expectation of being rejected, yet never coming to terms with them, nor even so much as realizing they were there. As such, these unresolved feelings served as the catalyst for his fears becoming his future reality. On the face of it, ironic may appear the right choice of word, however, predictable would be the more appropriate selection.

After moving in with him, there were two occasions, separated by about a year, where I returned home to find my pets dead. First up was my cat, Peppy. He placed Peppy in a blanket-wrapped box, put him on the back of his bike, then took two hours to complete a 15-minute ride. All with temperatures approaching 100 degrees.

Next, it was my beloved finches. I had taught them to sing, then helped to raise two sets of chicks. He told me that he had found them poisoned. When the police showed up to take a report, they expressed curiosity that the television and some cash sitting out in the open were still there, that there was no damage to any windows or doors. All the supposed burglars did was poison my birds, and go through some personal effects of our female roommate...

His tendencies toward violence were inconsistent in both what triggered an outburst, as well as the severity involved. While alcohol would sometimes cause him to leak out the poison that he unwittingly contained in his heart, it would even more often lead to him revealing his capacity to be kind.

Frequently things that you would think would enrage him, would instead produce moments of levity, and even that of self-deprecation.

"Hey dad, turn around, grab your ankles, close your eyes, and spread your legs!"

TTTHHHUUUMMMPPP!

After he was done writhing on the floor, and his heaves became dry, you could hear the sounds of him groaning in intense pain. "I'm such and idiot. What did I think you were gonna do?!?"

With one swift kick, he had gone from baritone to soprano! But instead of getting angry, he saw humor in the situation, perhaps followed by not a touch of swelling...

He knew that my great passion in life was baseball. So he was in attendance for every one of my games: at home, in a bar, maybe at the movies. He was in attendance wherever he was, it was just never in the stands where I was playing. In five years, he showed up at just one game. And I doubt he even remembered being there.

Next: why I choose to view him with compassion, gratitude, empathy, and grace.

???????? 4 -?????? ???????? ????

It's a strange feeling to find out that your own father had once schemed to have you aborted. Stranger yet when you find that out at the tender age of 7.

Once you consider his own childhood, it becomes much easier to reconcile. It is incredibly easy to judge someone else. It is much more rewarding to seek ways to understand them. Even, and often especially when their actions or points of view conflict with with your own interests or understandings.

"Ending the cycle" is a term often used to encourage an end to abuse within a family. Reducing the impact of that abuse, while not being the end goal, is nonetheless an important step toward reaching it. And it is one that is worth being noted.

I was occasionally hit; my dad was regularly beaten. If he was to use his past to justify his actions, that would be problematic, to say the least. For me to use that as a way to better understand him, and then to recognize the efforts that he undertook out of regard for my own well-being can, in fact, be productive.

And I can then use them in a way to help me contribute toward the goal of ending that cycle. And while I still have some residual anger that comes up in part as a result of the way that I grew up, I no longer respond to those feelings with violence. He was never able to so much as acknowledge his own past, let alone begin his process of working through it. Knowingly or otherwise, he still helped provide me with the tools to work through my own emotions.

Where he may have lacked the confidence to express his affection in a way that might leave him feeling vulnerable to rejection, he still found thousands of small ways to express himself, if not ways that could immediately be recognized as such.

He gave me my love of travel and exploration. A curiosity about this spinning cosmic ball I find myself on. A desire to understand both the perspective of other people, and then to consider the how and why their perspective came about.

And though he didn't succeed in his efforts to have me aborted, much of his life was to ensure that my life was a better one than he'd had himself, and to give of himself to the extent he was able.

We don't get to choose the people that love us, much less the manner in which they do. We can, however, choose to emphasize their humanity, and to remember them for all their good.

Because, forgiveness is not merely about pardoning the errors of others. It's about presenting ourselves with our best path forward.

#humanresources #socialnetworking #linkedin #personaldevelopment #socialmedia #hr #growth #travel #leadership #success #confidence #perspective #curiosity #health #relationships #lifeskills #success #baseball #productivity #support #kindness #life #inspiration #community #travel #mindset #family #gratitude #childhoodtrauma #forgiveness #growingpains #perserverance #mentalhealthawareness #childhood #parents #opentoconnect #test4searchability