The more things change, the more they stay the same

Something I eluded to at the end of my last entry, I found out this week that my estranged father (15 years), tried to contact someone for help getting in touch with me and my sister.  Blah, blah, blah.  For one, I will believe his interest when I see it.  For another, he is unreachable and left no contact information with the person he reached out to, so poof, in typical fashion, gone again.  Smoke and mirrors.  I did a brain dump of thoughts.  Hope you don't mind.

Here is a web site that I found on estranged families.

http://estrangedfamilies.wordpress.com/

It's interesting, and there are so many ways and reasons families become estranged. I just have to brainstorm for a minute.

I admit that I have daydreamed about my dad with my kids, enjoying them and joking with them. That guy, though, is the guy I knew before his heart attack that led to the revealing of his affair(s). He was fun, he was funny, he was a Daddy. Then again, I always knew that he could only kid with me, he was rarely serious when it came to positive reinforcement or compliments. It happened, but, not often, and I remember the times when it did (telling me I was pretty, etc). Most often he would joke, and that was his way of conveying something positive, but the jokes were not always nice ones. Still, we connected through humour. We could make each other pee in our pants with laughter at dinner, and those were some of the best times I remember. I remember snuggling up against his chest as he lay on the floor while my mom put drops in my ears and filled them with cotton due to my constant infections. I remember watching Real People, The Muppet Show, Emergency!, and CHiPs with my dad. I remember how he used to mimic the voice on CBS at the end of Dallas, "This is CBS", he'd say in that exaggerated voice. I remember him joking around with me about eating cereal from the dent in his head after his brain surgery. I remember having fun with him.

That's not the guy that he became. That's not the guy that I have been living without. That's not the guy that tried to sue me. That's not the guy that told me I should be happy because he was. That's not the guy who got married and told his new step sons that his daughters couldn't be there, even though we were never invited. That's not the guy who threatened to have extra security at the wedding of the step son just in case I tried to show up and ruin it. That's not the guy who treated my mom like dirt. He lived this double life, and finally had to give one of them up. That life he gave up was us.

Like someone said, he obviously "loved the hell out of" us at one time. Whether that's wavered or not is not for me to question. That's for him to handle.

I would like my kids to have gotten to know the dad I grew up with. If he's not that guy today, I don't know that I could welcome him into my life. How does one reconcile the drastic change in a person if they allow them back into their life? Something I'll have to think about. I've been feeling badly in recent months, with my mom in FL now, that the kids don't have cousins, only one aunt, one grandparent. That's not bad, but, as we sat at the table Sunday night with Dave's family, the house full of family, the sounds of everyone talking and sharing, I really felt good. I love the feeling of family around. It almost makes me sad to know that my kids have such a small family.

Anyway, I've never counted out the idea that my dad would pop up some day. I've played it out in my mind. In one scenario we are somewhere and I'm drinking red wine (imagine that), and I make sure that my glass is spilled all over his wife and I yell and scream and say hateful things to them. In another, I ask him questions and he just stares, doesn't say anything, and I leave in a huff, having gotten what I expected. In another, I can see him on the floor with my kids.

He's 65 now. I've watched my mom age, but, haven't seen the same with my dad. I've seen pictures of him online (his wife has a Flickr account, as do her sons who are Polaroid photographers). He kind of looks the same, but, also not. He's lost weight. I know they've traveled a fair bit. I've seen pictures of them at holidays, that stung. That's when I took a long break from cyber stalking them.

Part of the issue is that he decided what he wanted and figured we should all be happy for him. We weren't given the time to heal from the initial hurt, then grow into the life he'd chosen. I also didn't give him a second chance. He f'd up and I told him he wasn't worth my time. So, you know what he did? He took that and bailed. What kind of man lets his child tell him off like I told him off? I mean, I think back on that time and the hue is red. I more than saw red, everything was red. Red with rage. And he just took it from me. I said things to him that no parent should let their child say to anyone. I was open with him about my feelings, my hurt, my pain. He just sat there. He had no defense. He let me tell him to shape up or ship out, and he shipped out. I couldn't handle having a weak man like that in my life. I wouldn't tolerate it. I needed a rock. I needed support. I needed my Daddy. He was gone. I was looking at a shell, a fake, an imposter. He couldn't even stand up for himself. He was just puzzled that I was angry, and I, lucky me, was the only one that told him so. I told him he was wrong. I told him I was hurt. He just sat there. He didn't understand why. He didn't get why I would be so hurt. How annoying is that? So I told him to hit the road. And he did.

Could I have handled things differently? I blamed myself for several years, thinking that I should have done something differently, then he wouldn't have departed my life entirely. Then the attorney came to me and told me that my dad and his wife wanted to sue me. Then I heard how he let the woman talk about me and my sister in court, which I am shocked that any court would allow, especially from an interloper like her. Then he stopped talking to his brother. Then he stopped talking to all his "friends". Then he disappeared. And life was easier. And I was calmer. And then I could heal. And then I could move on. And I did.

Then my sister got a call from the wife's youngest son. He said it was so strange being at "the wedding" without me and my sister. She told him we knew nothing of it. He didn't believe her. They never spoke again. Then I got a call. It was him. I found out they'd married, and didn't want anything to do with him. I hung up on him. Three times. I screamed into the phone. I cried. I got mad. I went for a run.

Then his mom died. She was ashamed of what he'd done. I stayed in her house with my uncle and aunt. We were a family. It was nice. My mom couldn't be there. She didn't feel it her place. It was very hard. But the wife was there. They stayed in a hotel far from the house. It was strange. My other grandmother came to the funeral. The wife threw a fit in the funeral home. They didn't come to dinner with the family to celebrate Grandma's life. They peeled out of the parking lot. I never saw or heard from them again. They hated my uncle for carrying out the Estate. From their share came the payment for my sister's college debt. They tried to sue. They failed. That was 1999.

Life has been fine. Life has been peaceful. I get questions. Did you tell him when you got married? Did you tell him when you had the kids? Do you want to see him? He's your dad, you should. He's an ass, you shouldn't. You're better off without him. Every girl needs her Daddy. Two sides to every story. The list goes on.

I pictured one day hearing of his passing. I pictured a peaceful, yet remorseful, feeling washing over me. I pictured being sad. I pictured pitying him for dying alone. I had mourned his loss so many years ago, this news would come just as confirmation of what I'd lost so long ago.

I pictured one day him being sick and needing aid. The wife would either give up and leave him to flail, or would bring him to us and blame us.

I pictured one day meeting him and feeling nothing but hollow from across the table. The shell, the facade, the falseness in his eyes. Going along with the program. Doing as he is told.

And now, with this brief encounter with a chance for any effort on his part, it is over as quickly as it began.  One message.  One failure.

The saying goes, "if you love someone, set them free".  The other saying goes, "cry me a river".