My mom called yesterday to tell me that my father is not eating or talking his medication. Basically he is on strike. He mentioned that when he came to visit me last year that I said ” Dad, you are welcome here anytime.” That is NOT something I would EVER say. It is not the truth. Being around my Dad or any form of contact requires me to prepare emotionally and physically.
It is a good thing that this last coaching session was spent on what boundaries I need and want in relationship to him. I realized that last summer when he was “on his death bed” I went to the intention of burying him. I had such a feeling of relief. It is not that I wish him dead in a murderous rage kind of way, but rather because I long for peace for my dad and myself.
When we had to make the decison to “pull the plug” as a family, the only one NOT crying was me. I wondered what was wrong with myself… I even tried for some fake tears but there was none. I only felt relief.
My dad suffers from mental illness. Peace will only come to him at death. I long for him to be whole in heaven. I long for a relationship with him that is not ruled by fear of any kind.
So my father is not eating. He complained that I do not call him. Obviously he does not see it as a two way street. On the times I did call him (my heart pounding the whole time), all he talked about was Rajiv ( my middle brother) and the path he is choosing and how worried he is for him.
Never once did he ask about the kids or their interests. Or far be it, anything about me. He does not know a thing about me or my life. This was his umpteen chance I gave him. His last chance. I am ready to accept that nothing will change. He can not love me as my father the way I need to be loved.
I have made the decisions I need to make. These are the steps to release me from the guilty of being a daughter. I have decided that I am not going to his funeral. There is nothing I will benefit from being there. I know (from our last trip) that their will be bunch of people singing my dad’s praises. What a devoted man of the community he is, even received an award for the gardens he does in the neighborhood.
The police were his buddies, even the ones that came to deal with Rajiv, when he lost is mind. They even visited him in the hospital. His whole building was praying for him and his recovery. His church anointed him and prayed for healing.
Why would I want to be at the funeral with people talking about a man I never knew? I am not going to his funeral. My goodbyes have been said one too many times.
I needed to let my brother and mother know. I know my brother would understand. I am willing to help with the cost of cremating him. I just can not be there. My mom was surprising O.K. with it. (that is what she says).
My father is trying again to manipulate us. How many times has he told my mom if you leave or don’t come back I will kill myself. Or I will drink cyanide. He is used to being the master puppeteer. He moves the strings the way he wants us to move.
When he dies, it is his time. Maybe it will be his choice or maybe it won’t. He has lived a long life. Maybe that is all I can say about his life. He gave life to 3 children. His legacy will hopefully die with him. My brother Rajiv still has time to seek help and change.
My father is refusing to eat. I am refusing to to have my strings pulled anymore.