Reluctant Grief

Remember this post? Let’s refer to my birth father (which sounds so awkward) as G. Well, I did find a card and I wrote a letter, included a family photo and send it. It was kind of an awkward letter, I mean, really, what do you say after 14 years of no contact? It was weird. It wasn’t like I could say “get well soon”, because well, that likely wasn’t going to happen.

“Hey, I grew up, I had a couple of kids, I’m still happily married and have a lived a whole life you know nothing about. Sorry to hear you’re dying though…”

After I put it in the mailbox and put the flag up, I kept walking by the front door looking at the mailbox, watching for the mail truck, wondering if I should change my mind, run out and get the letter and forget the whole thing. I was afraid of the can of worms I was opening. However, the letter went out, and according to some friends who were sitting with him in the hospital, receiving it cheered him. And so, I’m glad I sent it.

A few weeks ago, it did seem as though G rallied and was getting better, but within a week, he was back in intensive care, with a tracheotomy to help him breathe and feeding tubes. We learned that he had severe pneumonia that was not getting better and that his remaining leg needed to be amputated due to diabetes complications. (His first was removed a few years ago). The leg was slowly poisoning his body. But the operation couldn’t happen until the pneumonia cleared up. It was a viscous cycle.

This past weekend, my aunt who lives closest to him and is listed as his next of kin, went to see him to make some arrangements. While there, he crashed but the doctors managed to revive him. The order was given to remove life support and he died on Monday evening. I found out by email Tuesday morning.

Hubster read the email with me, saw me start to cry and asked me if I was ok, just as Mouse walked into the kitchen. I was surprised at how upset I was, but knew I had to pull it together to get through the day, so I stuffed my feelings way down for a while so I could be “MOM” and function. Though, I’m sure the kids have overheard us talking, I haven’t explicitly talked to them about G or who he is or that he died. I fumbled through the day, tired and dazed and trying not to think about it. I was functioning on about 3 hours sleep, if you call it functioning, because I had been up a lot with a sick Baboo the night before.

We made it through the day; I talked to my Mum and brother and figured things would eventually hit me, but sincerely believed I could deal with whatever would come and it would be no big deal. Insert another night with no sleep, and Wednesday was a horrible day. By witching hour, 5 pm, I was “Nasty Mom”, complete with spinning head and flaming eyes, getting ready to sell the girls to any circus that would take them. I yelled, I stomped and I nearly threw food across the room. And then Hubster talked me down, told me to just hold until he got home. I apologized to the girls, fixed them dinner and put on a movie and wished the ground would open up and swallow me. I felt like sh*t for taking this out on the girls. I knew I had to deal with this, but couldn’t seem to get a grip on time.

Insert ANOTHER night with about 3 hours sleep.

Hubster gently insisted on staying home yesterday to give me a break and that’s exactly what he did. I rested, he took care of the girls and I did a lot of thinking and a bit of grieving.

I’m not a stranger to grief. This is not the first time I’ve lost a family member. I’ve known deeper pain, one that still lingers 6 years later. In this circumstance, I wasn’t sure what to feel, and wasn’t sure what I wanted to ALLOW myself to feel.

I hadn’t had direct contact with G for almost 15 years. At my invitation and effort, after a few years of little contact during my teen years, he was a part of my life for a while, right around the time Hubster and I were married. That was 15 years ago. G and his current wife attended our wedding. Hubster and I went to visit him shortly afterwards. We wrote back and forth for a few months and then one of my letters was sent back with a “return to sender” stamp on it. He vanished. I never heard from him again. That stung for a long time. I was mad for a long time. And hurt. So hurt. Once again, as I did when I was a kid and never heard from him, I wondered what was wrong with me. Why was I not good enough to be around?

And over time, I realized it wasn’t about me. He did it to other people, other family members. I stopped being mad. I don’t hate him. I never did. I let it go.

Occasionally, I heard about G through the grapevine, like when my grandmother died about 11 years ago and when he had his first amputation about 4 years ago, but I never heard from HIM again. I remember when my Mum called to tell me about him being in the hospital and she mentioned that my aunt had said he was surprised to hear he had a grandchild (at that time I just had Mouse). Hubster and I had been married over 10 years at that point and I was over 30, and I remember thinking “He really has no concept of a normal life!” Through the same grapevine, I wished him well, but didn’t contact him. I did say he could find me if I wanted to. He never did.

On top of not hearing from G, I almost never heard from his family either, despite making efforts to stay in touch over the years. Again, I was hurt and mad, and then I let it go.

However, this past summer, I tried one more time. We were in town, my Aunt was available and we had a very nice visit. She was the first to meet and acknowledge my girls. We stayed in touch and then we got the news about G dying. And since then, my Mother, myself and my 2 aunts have been in very close contact. I’m grateful for this contact and hope that we don’t lose it. But, I’m cautiously optimistic. I know that there was a reason why we got in touch this summer and I'm glad it happened before we knew about G.

I carefully considered going to see him when I first found out he was ill, but decided not to. There were many reasons why, none of them vindictive. I also considered going to his memorial service this weekend, but the highly prohibitive cost and previous obligations got in the way. And frankly, I felt as though, if I didn’t go when he was alive, why would I go when he is dead and won’t know I’m there? Hubster suggested that I go for closure, but I think I can find closure here. I wanted to go to support my aunt who had to make all these hard decisions herself. I felt OBLIGATED to go and guilty for not wanting to. The memorial is for his few friends who knew him most recently and it’s unlikely that many people from his “past” will be there. He’s closed us all out and I feel as though, what’s done is done at this point.

I have been reluctant to start to grieve, but it came about anyway, with me kicking and screaming the whole time. While I never wished him ill and certainly, during this whole thing, I never wished him dead, I wanted to be removed. I didn’t want to care as much as I have. I wanted to believe that he was just some person who didn’t matter to me anymore. I don’t know this man and he doesn’t know me. Other than the little history we have, there isn’t much there. What was there to grieve? I wasn’t wishing for a miraculous father daughter reunion. I have a wonderful father. He’s my stepfather, but it offends me to refer to him as such. He’s a Dad in every way to me and I think of him only in that context. I wasn’t hoping that G would swoop in to be Grandpa to my girls. In fact, I kind of worried what I would do if he ever did come back around. What would I say to the girls? Would I really want him there? What if he vanished on my kids like he did to me and I had to try to explain that to them? I didn’t want my girls to have to go through that. My kids have grandparents, Grandpas, who ADORE them. My DAD is a knock out Grandpa who lives for my girls and they adore him just as much. He’s earned that right and privilege and it’s not one he takes lightly.

So, why am I so sad? I’m sad because he died, by his own choice, almost alone. He could have had people around him who loved him, but he chose to shut the door on them. All of them. I’m sad because I’ll never hear him say “I’m sorry” to me, my brother and my Mother. I’m sad not because of the “what could have beens” but because there never was. I’m sad because someone I did care about, and still do to a degree, I guess, has died. A life is over and that alone is worth grieving.

One day, I'll tell my girls about him. They'll know where I came from and what happened and who he was from my viewpoint. I hope that I'll learn from his mistakes and keep those closest me to me, close. I certainly don't want to die alone.