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LJI: The opposite of love isn't hate; it is indifference.
You left me long before you left me.
You left when you couldn't cope with the stress of being a parent. You left when you chose to indulge in your illegalities instead of bedtime stories and tickle fights. You left when you decided it wasn't worth coming home before we were all in bed.
You left when you quit your job and became "self-employed" as a barely making ends meet unable to provide for his family riding your wife's paycheck slacker. Worse, you took her away from me, too, for so many hours a day.
You left when you chose your lowlife friends over your family. You left when you quit going to church and getting out of bed in the mornings was an obligation you couldn't meet. You left when you stopped helping with homework, because the siren song of your obsession called you from the dark recesses of the basement.
You left when you started sleeping on the sofa instead of in your room with your wife. You left when you would move to the room when the rest of us awoke and started our day. You left when you stopped wanting to eat meals with us.
You left when you didn't care if you actually got visitation. You left when having us for the weekend took too much effort. You left when you couldn't be bothered to help us pay for our normal teenage lives, band and sports and car insurance.
You left us.
Worst, you never accepted responsibility. "She left me!" You told me this one day, unprompted. "I want you to know, she left me!"
I was 13, but I knew it was a desperate lie that you told yourself so you could believe that your life wasn't your fault. I just nodded, already wise to the futility of arguing with someone who had left his life behind.
Your terms, or nothing. That was how you remained in my life. I called. I came to visit. I made the effort - every effort, all effort. I went to therapy to learn to cope with being abandoned; I went to therapy to learn to cope with the memories of the Awful Times before she left you - the fights, the sounds of slaps, the holes in the walls, the screaming accusations, the smell of something disgusting wafting up from the basement when you stormed out, the rafters and windows stills shaking at the impact of your anger.
Then I left. College. Law School. Another city. Another state. Another life.
I called, still. I visited, still. I made the efforts, still. I doubled-down in therapy, because I was so afraid I'd be with someone like you.
I loved you, still. So much. And I hated you still, too.
Then you left everything but your body. I came home, to the hospital, where you looked so different and yet, still the same. You were there, looking at me, talking to me, but you didn't know me. You didn't know where you were, ranting at me and begging me to help you get out of jail. You didn't know that you had daughters. You didn't know anything.
Even though I thought my heart was immune to you, you broke it again. For two years, you were only in your own body sometimes. Sometimes you knew me, sometimes you didn't. Sometimes you knew you, sometimes you didn't.
When the call came from hospice that you were leaving for good, I didn't come home. I had nothing left to say. You'd met your grandson, but you didn't know him. You'd hugged me goodbye, and I think you meant it.
At the end, it grew desperate. You wanted so badly to be at home and I did everything I could to keep you there. I was grateful when I got the call that you'd finally left your body for good.
You left us.
But, truthfully, I don't remember a time before that happened.
I still love you.
I miss you. (That is the stupidest thing I've said my entire life.)
Good-bye, Daddy.
This entry was written for therealljidol 04: "Ghosting." If there is voting, I will share the poll. Thanks.
You left when you couldn't cope with the stress of being a parent. You left when you chose to indulge in your illegalities instead of bedtime stories and tickle fights. You left when you decided it wasn't worth coming home before we were all in bed.
You left when you quit your job and became "self-employed" as a barely making ends meet unable to provide for his family riding your wife's paycheck slacker. Worse, you took her away from me, too, for so many hours a day.
You left when you chose your lowlife friends over your family. You left when you quit going to church and getting out of bed in the mornings was an obligation you couldn't meet. You left when you stopped helping with homework, because the siren song of your obsession called you from the dark recesses of the basement.
You left when you started sleeping on the sofa instead of in your room with your wife. You left when you would move to the room when the rest of us awoke and started our day. You left when you stopped wanting to eat meals with us.
You left when you didn't care if you actually got visitation. You left when having us for the weekend took too much effort. You left when you couldn't be bothered to help us pay for our normal teenage lives, band and sports and car insurance.
You left us.
Worst, you never accepted responsibility. "She left me!" You told me this one day, unprompted. "I want you to know, she left me!"
I was 13, but I knew it was a desperate lie that you told yourself so you could believe that your life wasn't your fault. I just nodded, already wise to the futility of arguing with someone who had left his life behind.
Your terms, or nothing. That was how you remained in my life. I called. I came to visit. I made the effort - every effort, all effort. I went to therapy to learn to cope with being abandoned; I went to therapy to learn to cope with the memories of the Awful Times before she left you - the fights, the sounds of slaps, the holes in the walls, the screaming accusations, the smell of something disgusting wafting up from the basement when you stormed out, the rafters and windows stills shaking at the impact of your anger.
Then I left. College. Law School. Another city. Another state. Another life.
I called, still. I visited, still. I made the efforts, still. I doubled-down in therapy, because I was so afraid I'd be with someone like you.
I loved you, still. So much. And I hated you still, too.
Then you left everything but your body. I came home, to the hospital, where you looked so different and yet, still the same. You were there, looking at me, talking to me, but you didn't know me. You didn't know where you were, ranting at me and begging me to help you get out of jail. You didn't know that you had daughters. You didn't know anything.
Even though I thought my heart was immune to you, you broke it again. For two years, you were only in your own body sometimes. Sometimes you knew me, sometimes you didn't. Sometimes you knew you, sometimes you didn't.
When the call came from hospice that you were leaving for good, I didn't come home. I had nothing left to say. You'd met your grandson, but you didn't know him. You'd hugged me goodbye, and I think you meant it.
At the end, it grew desperate. You wanted so badly to be at home and I did everything I could to keep you there. I was grateful when I got the call that you'd finally left your body for good.
You left us.
But, truthfully, I don't remember a time before that happened.
I still love you.
I miss you. (That is the stupidest thing I've said my entire life.)
Good-bye, Daddy.
This entry was written for therealljidol 04: "Ghosting." If there is voting, I will share the poll. Thanks.
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Not that it makes it easy. I don't think it *gets* to be easy. I think it just gets to hurt.
And "I miss you" is not a stupid thing to say. My eyes filled with tears when I read it.
This is haunting.
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You tell this sorrow-filled truth with such skill and beauty.
Thank you for sharing it with us.
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I wish it didn't hurt so much, and that it hadn't cut so deep, but it's almost impossible to grow up with this as a child and not have it take hold of you this way.
You and your family deserved so much better, and your father did too, if only he'd had the strength to reach for it. *hugs*
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I've always said this.
Heartbreaking story.
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Even though my parents had their social relationship with drugs up until the late 70s (and my father had a passing fling with coke in the mid-90s), they both loved their alcohol! It wasn't until my mom found Jesus (again) in the 80s, and decided she didn't drink, anymore, then my father was a lone alcoholic until fairly recently. And despite the years and years and YEARS of their knock-down drag-outs (and the yelling, and the name calling, and ALL the trips the cops made out to the house ;P), they never could commit to a full-on divorce. They separated many times, with the whole, "Who do you want to live with?" forcing each of their kids to, in turn (like the monster's they were ;P), choose which parent they loved more at that moment (or less, I suppose ;P). And when you're faced with that kind of crazy, and an amazing older sister, the older sister starts to look pretty good, or so I'm told! So, lucky me! ;D Thus explains why I had two teenagers right out of high school! ;D
I'm really sorry, though, that you had to experience any of this. =/ It sucks that your dad was this selfish! It was unfair everyone, of course, but as a kid, it's never easy to understand how an adult can make a choice like that! I mean, for us it's like a decision is to choose between Cap'n' Crunch or Cookie Crisp! Watching The Smurfs or The Snorks (I know, I'm totally dating myself right now!). But we don't learn until much later that even when we're making selfish decisions, it's not that easy. Because, giving up on the people we love, also means we've given up on ourselves. And as unfair as all the rest of it was/is, they were human, too, not without hopes and dreams and goals... a sad situation all the way around.
I hope you don't think I'm being too judgemental. And I hope you don't mind me sharing my personal stuff with you, either. I know our paths haven't been the same (wow, all that you've accomplished... I wanted law school SO MUCH, but my grades didn't support it, and neither did having two teenagers right out of high school. -laughing-), but just knowing that we share this and that even though I wasn't able to make that my dream, someone in a similar situation did... I think that's just amazing!
Ultimately, though, I'm really sorry you lost your dad. I'm sorry for all that that you had to overcome! I sure hope you're proud of everything you've done! I'm sure I'm not the first person to be inspired by you, but maybe the first person, today! ;) Sending you big hugs!
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U have done a wonderful job with the prompt.
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