It's times like these where my dad's illness seems to dominate what should be normality. I see normal families everywhere. Normal families are together for the holidays. Normal families give presents to each other, normal families sit around and talk to each other. Normal families can gather and love and express and be normal.
I used to think it was the divorce. There were other families that didn't spend the holidays together. Many, in fact. But somehow, even with their degrees of separations, there still seemed to be a togetherness, even if split half and half. But with my family, even with the divorce, it isn't at all normal. The holiday parties are scary, I'm on my own. I feel like a care taker, watchful of my dad's moves, making sure he can finish his sentences in normal conversation. This year I avoided the holiday parties, after all, my dad didn't quite make an attempt to invite me to come with him. Instead, I received a quick call, telling me he wanted to meet up with me the next day to give me "a little something." I said yes, but he never called back the next day. Before I knew it, he was away on his own vacation. This is my normal.
This year, I've gotten used to many new things. Dealing with my dad in this past year was a journey. It was heart wrenching in the beginning, and I can't say with confidence that I don't still feel sadness every time Benson's Syndrome ruins something for him. But at least now, I've begin to come to terms with his illness, and he has too. We no longer pretend it doesn't exist. We no longer blame mishaps on him as a person. We now address it, talking about it (as much as we can), and we accept that the illness itself it at blame.
I'm ashamed of the way I dealt with my dad in the past. I'm ashamed that I outright called him a bad father. I wish I had known that the things I constantly hated him for—and yes, I told people I hated him—were things not in his control.
But I can't live in the past, mournful of all the time I wasted complaining about how we was always late, how my friends were embarrassed to drive in the car with him, how he stood me up on many occasions, how he didn't buy me nice presents for my birthday, how he forgot my birthday, how he misspelled 90% of the words in my birthday card. I failed to look past these mistakes, and see that he wanted to be there for me, he made an attempt at giving me something nice, how beyond the "I am so pripe of you," he was really, really proud of me. And for that, I am proud of him.
I have got to move past all of that.
Looking onto the new year, I am scared. I have no idea of what will hit him, what will change. Things were SO different with him a year ago, and I can't lie, I am terrified of what awaits him. But I am getting used to the fact that things are changing. The idea has settled in, and maybe it still feels uncomfortable—as it probably always will be—but I am ready for this change. I'm ready to deal with it in the best way possible. I'm ready to let go of all the bad feelings about him. I'm ready to love my dad for who he is, not hate him for his illness. I'm ready.
Lastly, before this year comes to a close, I just want to say thank you. This blog has been a great vent for me, and it's really helped me to accept what is happening, and treat it in a way I won't regret. Thanks to all those reading this now, and thanks to those who have given me any sort of support. Happy New Year.
