These gorgeous, sunny autumn days are a gift. Today, we’re reaching eighty-four degrees, tomorrow the mid-seventies, but both days will be filled with golden fall light.
I raked some leaves yesterday, cleaned out a portion of the gutter, cleaned the bathroom, vacuumed and tried to make some sort of sensible arrangement of all the reading material in the den that seems to multiply and expand on a daily basis.
Today is my dad’s birthday. He would have been 96.
We had a complicated relationship and that didn’t just hold true for me, it was the same for all of my siblings. I was talking to Don about my dad this morning, trying my best to explain that complexity to him. I don’t have a lot of great memories of him when I was a kid. He was volatile, you never knew what would set him off, he was extremely needy, he was impatient, he was angry. He was an alcoholic, though I didn’t yet have a name for it when I was very young. To this day, I can’t stand the smell of alcohol on someone’s breath. We always had to tiptoe, and I use the word figuratively, around him. The ‘don’t upset your father’ kind of warning was a staple of my childhood. For many years, I did my best to avoid him. I was happiest when he wasn’t home. Loud arguments erupted fairly frequently. Holidays, when there was so much pressure to be happy and festive, seemed to be especially hard for him. It was difficult for him to maintain a light-heartedness on those days and he would invariably succumb to that pressure and everything would implode.
He meant well. He loved us deeply. He was a good, good man with a big heart. He was as loyal as the day was long. I can’t tell you how many times I saw others reach out to him for help. He protected those in need of protection. But he had a disease. He also, my sister and I now realize, was traumatized by the four years he spent fighting in WWII. Because, ultimately, my dad was gentle soul and what he witnessed during the war changed him forever. We didn’t fully realize this until his last hours on Earth, when we sat with him as he prepared to leave us. I wish we had realized it sooner.
I wasn’t able to really appreciate my father until I moved away to go to grad school. I finally had distance, which I desperately needed. I was able to see him with fresh eyes. And, as time went by, he got sober. My parents moved to Northern Michigan, which had always been my dad’s happiest place. He found a community there. He was no longer under the pressures from his job (he retired early.) He was happy. I actually liked being around him and we had a healthy relationship for the first time ever. In fact, I would often go home for 5 weeks on my breaks from my teaching position at Boston University. And I had the best time, just being there with Dad and Mom.
I’m so grateful for that. Both Don and I had complicated relationships with our fathers. And both Don and I were able to find a new relationship with them later in life.
A result of the troubled years, the years of alcoholism, was something that often effects adult children of alcoholics; a fear of commitment, a fear of intimacy. That I finally worked through that, with Divine help, of that I am sure, is a miracle. I was able to open up to the possibility of a healthy committed relationship, despite my fears, and two weeks after I said that out loud and owned it, I met Don.
And no one was happier for me than my dad.
I’m so grateful that the memories of my father that I choose to hold in my heart now are loving ones. That I was able to be with him on the day he passed away. That I was able to tell him I loved him and mean it. That he loved us was never in doubt. That he would do anything for us was also never in doubt. But that day, as my sister and I held his hands and stroked his head, nothing else mattered but that love. Everything else – all of it – just slipped away.
Happy Birthday, dad.
And Happy Saturday.
Thank you for sharing such a personal story, Claudia. My daughter and I have an estranged relationship. She suffers from substance abuse. My biggest fear in life is that we will never reconcile. There are no certainties, but your story gives me hope, something I’ve been running low on lately.
I’m so sorry, Karen. There is always hope.
I have an estranged sister – she’s pulled away from virtually everyone in the family. None of us understand why and all of us have made efforts to contact her; in the case of Meredith and me, repeatedly. She has such anger toward all of us. It will always be a mystery. I sense that there’s an underlying mental illness. I wish her only the best. I once wrote about it on the blog – many years ago – and I was astonished by how many readers had some sort of painful estrangement within their families. It’s unbelievably painful.
I so hope that you can find your way back to each other and that your daughter finds the help she needs. Much love, Karen.
Thank you, Claudia. xo
I have an estranged sister, too. She has “divorced” our entire family. Like your sister, mine is mentally ill also. I’m not angry with her. I’m sad – especially for our mother.
I can’t say for sure that she is mentally ill, but it’s the only thing that explains her behavior. And we saw signs of it well before this estrangement happened.
My heart broke for my parents. Parents, by the way, that she never once visited for all the years they lived in Florida. She never came when they were having surgery, or when she was told that they were near death. That I can’t forgive her for.
She spoke to them on the phone but that was it. I’d better stop or I’ll get angry again. xoxo
Pretty much the same with my sister. We have no idea if she’s been “officially” diagnosed or not, but the only thing that could possibly explain her behavior – ever since she was a child! – is mental illness. So, there’s been signs for many, many years. I have no idea if she’ll ever reconcile with our mother – even if she was ill – or not. (Our father has been gone for 21 years, so that’s a moot point.) I guess only time will tell.
I’ll never know with my sister. She has cut off all communication with us. The only connectors that we had were my parents. She didn’t see them, but she called them. But now? We have no idea. It’s just sad.
I am so happy for you that you eventually had a good relationship with your dad. I don’t know what my relationship with my dad would have been in later life but we sure had a good one in my early life. A drunk driver took him from us when I was twelve. I am now 67 and I still miss him. I hate the fact that he never got to meet his son-in-law and granddaughters (we have four). I guess it just wasn’t meant to be but I am very thankful for the twelve plus years I had with him. I was a “daddy’s girl” then and I imagine I probably would have been later in life as well. He was a wonderful man.
The heat has returned here in SE Indiana this weekend. I am so ready for fall and cooler weather! Have a good day and thank you for sharing your story.
I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to lose your father at such a young age, Lorinda. But I am happy that your memories of him are loving ones.
We never stop missing our loved ones. xo
Beautifully written and I’ve always loved your heartfelt honesty.
Hope you and Don have a wonderful weekend and enjoy the gorgeous fall weather.
Thank you so much, Cathy.
I’m glad you can remember the best of your dad now. I lost my dad this year and next week will be his first birthday without him. Growing up was pretty turbulent with both of my parents, too. But I always knew I was loved, as well. You’ve written a lovely tribute to yours today.
Thinking of you as you go through this first birthday without your dad, Shanna.
I’m so very grateful, Claudia, that you were able to build a new relationship with your dad as you grew older (and he grew wiser). I have always said I hate it when people die and there is unfinished business. It sounds as though you “finished” the business and moved on. Not that it doesn’t have its bruises and leftovers, like the rest of life’s encounters, but you were able to move ahead. Ninety six — oh, the things that happened just in his lifetime. I’m glad they better understand PTSD now.
And as I grew wiser.
No one even had a name for it except shell shock. And my dad wasn’t diagnosed with that. He just kept it all inside. Thanks, Jeanie.
I had a complicated relationship with my father, too, and was frightened of getting physically near him. I may have mentioned previously that one of the best moments of my life was years after Dad’s death, when I spotted a little old man who could have been Dad’s twin, the next register over at the grocery store. I felt an instant of affection before the reality sunk in that wasn’t Dad, of course. It brought me great joy to realize that, after everything, what I was left with was that affection.
I’m so glad you had that feeling of affection. It goes a long way toward healing, Linda.
This is beautifully written about your dad. Addiction can tear families apart. Nothing but a miracle that your father sought help and became sober, and then you were able to reconcile. I had a complicated relationship with my father, too. He wasn’t an alcoholic but he had a volatile temper. He was a very quiet, serious man but you didn’t want to upset him, because then he would explode. He didn’t listen or instruct gently; it was more like “do it like this – my way – or else”. He passed away 21 years ago at the age of 63 from atherosclerosis.
I must add that in the years when my mom was failing in the nursing home and after she died, we were aware that he was drinking again. But my wise husband said that he was heartbroken and lonely and that we should just love him – he wasn’t going to change in his late eighties.
I have awful memories of my dad teaching us how to do something. It always ended in yelling and tears. He just couldn’t handle it, didn’t have the patience. I understand, Melanie.
Claudia, the description of your Dad is almost parallel to my Dad. The biggest difference is that my Dad was never able to quit. He died 19 yrs ago on Christmas Day. His father, too, was an alcoholic. It is a horrible disease. And the smell of alcohol can bring me to tears. I have one sister and have not spoken to her in years. She has the same disease. I, myself, don’t drink, but I have suffered the consequences of the disease in so many other ways. My Dad was also a WWII vet who never spoke of it. He was a medic, so I can only imagine what he saw. I think many of us have similar stories. Holidays were always so hard. I know I still suffer from trying to always make Christmas “perfect” for my family because of the many that I just want to forget. So many complicated feelings.
Yes, alcoholism ran in my dad’s family. A few of his siblings were alcoholics, as well.
Until I read a book about Adult Children of Alcoholics I had no idea why I was the way I was. Reading that book started me on the path to healing. It made an enormous difference in my life. I don’t drink either. Neither does Meredith.
I’m sorry you had much the same experience, Chris. I understand, my friend.
Dear Claudia, what a blessing for you and your father and your sister to have that peaceful loving deathbed experience. I think it is a testament to the love among you that you continued to reach out to them, and wanted to spend your adult time with them. And it speaks of your mother’s devotion as well, to not give up although things were tense and stressful.
The expectations that men were expected to fulfill, no matter what their personal emotional responses were, that expectation to ” man up” and be tough in the face of trauma and hardship was a terrible and unfair burden. I think the women’s movement has helped level the emotional playing field for men in this regard.
My parents’ acrimonious divorce when I was 6 set the stage for a difficult childhood and adolescence. I often felt that what helped me have a concept of the possibility of a stable future was that my story was atypical in my childhood. There was what looked like stability around me. With divorce so common now, and often think that mothers and fathers should more fully consider the long term impact of divorce on their developing children, and on each other.
Thank you for sharing your personal story with such honesty. That is part of what makes your blog so special to your readers.
Yes, you’re so right. Men were supposed to be tough and stoic. My dad wasn’t that kind of person.
I’m so sorry you had to go through the divorce of your parents at such a young age. xo
I only saw the good side of your father. He was always so very nice to me.
I heard rumors but that is all. It is wonderful that you had the strength and love to forgive and develop a good relationship.
Love to you all.
He loved you and your family, Kay. He was a good man.
xoxo
I could have written those words myself. I don’t tell people that my dad was an alcoholic because I was always so ashamed. Just admitting it is a huge step for me. Although my father demonstrated that he loved us by helping us with finishing our house, he never told us that he loved us. Every day was like walking in a field of IEDs. He and my mother would argue, but he never took it out on us. I often wonder if the constant stress is why I am so nervous all the time. I was always very quiet, almost as if I was trying to remain invisible.
Whenever he got in a car I was sick with worry that he would get in an accident and get hurt or kill someone while driving. It upsets me to be around people who drink.
One of your readers said that reading a book on children of alcoholics has helped her to heal. I imagine that I am long over due to get a few of those books out of the library.
That was me that said that, Christine. I would urge you to find a book on Adult Children of Alcoholics. It will help to clarify some things.
I feel for you. It isn’t easy living with an alcoholic, nor is it easy to find the coping skills needed, especially when you’re young. I was ashamed of it for years, embarrassed when he slurred his speech around my friends. I don’t think I really said it out loud it anyone until I was well into adulthood.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts.
This is so beautifully expressed, Claudia.Thank you for including those of us who consider you our virtual friend.xo
You’re welcome, Annette. Thank you for your kind words, as well.
Thank you for sharing this part of your life. I have a complicated relationship with my mother – very similar story to yours. She was the supporter of our family at a time when most wives stayed home. Her husband, my father, had become brain-damaged in a car accident one month before my birth. He damaged his frontal lobe which controls behavior and self- control, among other things. Between his brain damage and my mother’s anxiety and self- medication, to say our house was volatile is probably an understatement, but I never had any doubt I was loved. I too well remember the tip toeing around the house so as not to upset anyone. To this day, I constantly avoid any type of conflict. Now that it’s just my mother and she can be more relaxed, not worried about finances – more herself – our relationship is much better. I know why she was the way she was and I can’t even imagine what she went through, trying to support our family and having pretty much lost the man she married. Relationships are complicated and a lot of work, but for the most part, are well worth the effort! And forgiveness is very healing for all involved.
I’m so sorry to hear what happened to your father and the stress your mother was understandably dealing with.
I don’t do well with conflict either, though I’ve become feistier as I get older.
Thank you, Jane.
So many stories, such histories of secrets. I remember feeling different and ashamed, envious of more healthy families, even insinuating myself into my close friend’s family, anything to escape. When my sister and I reflect, we realize that each of the six children coped in different ways, and each is affected quite differently. I wonder how many others have memories similar to those expressed here. You just never know what goes on behind closed doors.
I understand. Thank you, Anne.
Thank you for sharing
There are so many painful responses
Both of my parents were alcoholics
Just a nightmare of a childhood
Thank you again Claudia for this post
It reinforces the fact that we are not alone with scars of childhood
I’m so very sorry.
You are right. We are not alone. And we can find comfort in that truth. xo
You made me cry…My relationship with my own father was pretty non-existent. He was too
selfish to be a good father or even try. My parents were divorced when I was nine and all was
well with my world. My brother, four years younger than I, never has handled it well. Families can be so interesting.
I’m happy that you have happy, loving memories of your father.
Thank you, Lynn. xo
You know, it occurred to me quite recently that most of us Boomers were raised by and with men suffering from PTSD before it was recognized for what it is in all its forms. Self-medication with alcohol or drugs is all of a piece with this. You’ve written so beautifully and openly today.
Wise words, Margaret. You’re absolutely right. Thank you.
Your words of your father are so eloquent. I’m sorry for your loss, Claudia. I miss my dad, too. His birthday is soon and he’d be turning age 96 as well. But he’s been gone from us now for nearly a dozen years. Death (when the doctor told him he wasn’t gonna make it) was a real disappointment to him; he’d wanted to live longer. The last thing I fed him was two cups of frosty vanilla ice cream and he had such a look of bliss on his face. Maybe he did it just for me, always protective; he seemed to sense it was so important for me to be able to do any small thing for him in that big, sterile hospital (where everybody was good to him, but it wasn’t his family and it wasn’t ‘home’).
Thank you, Vicki.
Thank you Claudia for being so open about your father. I am so glad you had happier times when he was older.
I think it is so good that women can talk about emotional things like this to each other. Some men can do this, (my husband and probably yours) but most men I find avoid it as a sign perhaps of weakness but it would be so good for them if they did it.
I agree. Luckily, my husband can share his feelings quite easily. But I know many men that can’t. Thank you, Megan.
Children of alcoholics have a very difficult time. Also, WWII changed so many men of that generation. My dad was a POW in Germany and he suffered from what we now know is PTSD and had a hair trigger temper. My grandmother said it really changed him. I’m glad you were able to establish a relationship with him. xo Laura
Yes, indeed. I think WWII changed so many men who fought and served. But there wasn’t a name for what they had and there wasn’t a climate in place where men could admit how traumatized they were. Thanks, Laura.