I woke from another terrible night’s sleep today. I was up six different times last night. One of the cats had inadvertently set the second alarm (all they have to do is walk on the button to set it), which went off at midnight. Crooner had several allergy attacks and woke me up snorting all over the bedroom, and my thimble-sized bladder took care of a couple of interruptions. Since I had only a light dinner last night, I was up and ravenous at 3am for a fridge raid. Sigh.
Paul called today to tell me that he hadn’t called Dad back. Apparently he’s talking to Cindy about it, but they haven’t made a decision yet on whether or not it’s advisable. I can’t really say that I blame them. Paul is the designated envoy because Cindy can’t be bothered; she’s done. I get the feeling that Paul is trying to talk to her about an overture and she’s having none of it, but that’s speculation on my part.
Eve called today about something, and while we were on the phone I agreed to come see them tonight. It’s been a couple of weeks, and I try to get over there every now and again. Today though, was a bad idea. First because there was the un-returned call from Cindy and Paul, which I figured I would be grilled over. Second, of course, is my on-going Epstein-Barr battle and the need to feel like somebody this weekend. As it turns out, I was right to be cautious on both accounts.
The first part of the evening went deceptively well. We had discussed going for Mexican, but one of the girls brought a bunch of fries back to the office today for her lunch (a crime for which she nearly died – I would have cheerfully strangled her for those fries after being forced to sit in the smell of them and eating broccoli and brown rice for lunch all week), so all I could think about was getting some fries. We went to Ruby Tuesdays and I had some that were wonderful, along with some excellent new veggie burger sliders and a salad. It was more dinner than I have eaten in a while, but I figured I might sleep through the night anyway.
We went back to their house, as we usually do after supper. Unfortunately, that’s where things got dicey. Dad brought up the un-returned call, and I admitted knowledge, which opened up the whole “I hate Paul and Cindy” thing. This involves him telling me the whole story again (detailing every wrong they have ever done him, etc), after which he tells me that he sent Cindy a letter a year ago telling her he forgave her for everything, and explaining how her failure to respond to this letter further goes to prove her basic worthlessness as a human being. Gee I wonder why she didn’t respond to the letter.
Which is the crux of the problem. Dad just doesn’t understand that after all he has done and said, that an “I forgive you” doesn’t just make it all go away. Dad has never understood that there are some things you can say, or actions you can take, that can’t be un-done. Ever. They aren’t required to have him in their life in any way. He seems to feel that they owe him fealty, respect, and ever-lasting gratitude for the generosity of his forgiveness. He thinks it was very big of him to send them an attorney letter threatening to sue them for less money than he feels he was owed.
The problem, of course, is that the forgiveness isn’t real. The letter was a lie. He crowed tonight that Paul doesn’t have the “Chutzpah” to call him back. He seemed gleeful about this 'proof' Paul’s inferiority, and his own corresponding superiority; not understanding that it was just that he's been such an ass that Paul just doesn't want to talk to him anymore. Everyone is battle-weary but Dad - he's still spoiling for more fight; still a thinly veiled boiling pot of rage. It doesn’t take much to tap into it. I got the full litany of the wrongs of Cindy and Paul tonight, yet again. Wrongs that he treasures, and actually seems to take pleasure in relating, as if these wrongs justify everything he’s done. He believes that because they wronged him, he was justified to do and say anything he wanted to them. He is incredulous that they don’t feel they deserved everything he did. The reason that he’s trying to orchestrate some kind of reconciliation at this point is that he wants something. He wants Eve to be able to see Brenden again. And it just doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.
I was trying to wrap this up, after trying and failing yet again to explain the “some things can’t be done or said” concept to him, when he capped the whole thing. Eve was sharing her hope that someday Brenden would want to see her again, when Dad chimed in triumphantly. “And when he does, I will tell him this whole story so that he knows what happened.” “Dad!” I responded, horrified. “Please tell me you would not drag him into this and start it all over with another generation! You haven’t listened to anything else I’ve said, but please listen to this – if this dies, let it die!” Dad was shaking his head condescendingly, as if I would just never understand how right he was. “How much is enough?” I asked, horrified “How much nastiness, how much revenge is enough for you?!” He met my eyes and said “I can’t foresee a time when it will ever be enough.” I was gobsmacked. “Jesus Christ, Dad.” Was all I could say. I just realized that there is no reasoning with him. He will never move on. He will never let this die. It goes into his mental bank of treasured slights and injuries that he carries with him through life. He gloats over them and seems to rejoice in the resultant bitterness.
He doesn’t seem to understand that he won the battle and lost the war. He got back the money he asked for. He got to vent a good portion of his apparently bottomless spleen at Paul. He has the self-righteous satisfaction of being completely right in his mind. Everyone has ceded the field to him, but it seems a hollow victory if he is left to celebrate in it alone.
He’s managed to drive everyone away with his endless rage. I still see him every 2-3 weeks because I’m his son. I love him because he’s my father, and I honor him because the Bible says I’m supposed to. At one point, I actually sat down and worked out a contract of sorts, in my head, of the obligations I feel I should fulfill. He’s made it very clear that there are parts of my life he doesn’t want to know about, and there are parts about which he is very derisive. I edit our conversations to things that we can talk about without rancor, which severely limits what we have to discuss. Lisa sees him periodically for about the same reasons I do, and because she feels that her children should know their grandfather. He is very good to Cole and Ava, as he was to Brenden. But really none of us are close to him. We have been forced to hold him at arm’s length to limit the toxicity. He is so unhealthy to be around, so much work, and it’s just too difficult to get close to someone around whom you constantly feel that you have to walk on eggs. Navigating his emotional minefield is exacting work. I’ve never doubted that my father loves me, but his love is a ferocious thing to endure.
After the final exchange I left. I was tired before we went, and with the efforts I had put in with Dad tonight I was now exhausted. I had promised myself that I would leave by 9pm, but when I looked at my phone it was quarter to 10. I got home, did my evening stuff, and got into bed – only to lie and stare at the ceiling for two hours. I put in David Attenborough, I said my prayers and tried to work it out with God, everything. Nothing was working. Eventually after getting up and taking a pill I finally drifted off.
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