Words cannot describe...

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I recently submitted some essays for a writing course entry exam.  I had a similar assignment for a class I'm in right now, so I used some of the same material for it.

First, I had to "focus on a subject to write about."  I had to compile a list of several events that I have experienced or observed (same as in class).  Of course my father's death when I was 29 (& he, 52) made the list.

Second, I was supposed to choose the one event that I wanted to write about most.  Although my grandmother's decline after a stroke & her death a few months later made the list, naturally, I was compelled to write about losing my Dad.  I had a limited amount of time in which to complete the test.  I fretted for nearly two weeks.  My final draft needed to be between 250 & 500 words.  I could scarcely complete a single sentence on the subject.  I wrote about Oma (my maternal grandmother) instead.

At the last minute I changed my mind & wrote another essay about one of my stray dogs.  That's beside the point, however.  I will post both essays later... or procrastinate indefinitely.

JFYI, my Dad did not *suddenly* find religion after years of depression.  Growing up, we were regular churchgoers on Sunday.  Even when we kids grew older & we quit going to church on a regular basis, & eventually altogether, religious discussions were commonplace in our family & always have been.  The "new" church I refer to him going to is the one my godparents & longtime friends of the family were currently attending.

Although he died in August, his birthday was October 31st.  Once my favorite "holiday," it has become the third worst day of the year, preceded by the day he died & Father's Day, & followed by the fourth worst day of the year, New Year's Eve.  (New Year's Eve because, as one of my last ditch efforts to spend time with him I asked him to do something with me for New Year's Eve, his choice.  But his church was having a celebration on New Year's Eve, an alternative to the fun parties where, God forbid, someone might toast & sip a glass of champagne at the stroke of midnight!  OMG.  Prepare to meet your maker.  I thought for sure, Hell had frozen over & the world was coming to an end.  My beer drinking Dad that resented those fanatics that think anyone who touches alcohol is a sinner with a lost soul was now celebrating WITH them.  It was the last straw, I guess.)

I was never a fan of Thanksgiving or Christmas.  Leftover turkey sandwiches and all the Christmas gifts in the world were not worth, as the youngest, being the babysitter while everyone else went out at some point during the visit, being completely ignored & excluded from any adult conversation (still to THIS day), & the constant criticism about every aspect of my life (which was all wrong, of course) & what I should be interested in & doing instead.

I favored New Year's Eve, the Fourth of July, & Halloween.  As a child, what could be better than staying up 'til midnight with the rest of the world, fireworks, costumes, and FREE candy?!

Every once in awhile my parents, brothers, or sister would do their own thing for New Year's Eve.  I recall my parents going to a big party one year where everyone stayed overnight at the hotel in which it took place.  I was the most excited of everyone about these holidays.  Sometimes someone would humor me & give in to doing something with me, buying a few dinky fireworks or walking me around to Trick or Treat.  But Daddy wasn't much for celebrating.  Particularly his birthday.  Having been oblivious to the fact that holidays and birthdays were not just about him, but about his family wanting to spend time with him, he refused to celebrate most of the time.  I don't recall a single birthday dinner or gathering to give him cards and gifts together, much less let us take a picture.  In 25 years of my parents' marriage, we have a whole ONE family picture that we're actually all in.  I think I was 3 or 4...?  Cards & gifts never made him happy.  He would just complain that we were wasting money so until we had our own money to spend on him he didn't get much.  Maybe a card from me, colored with crayon on construction paper & everyone signing it.

I never took it personally.  After all, it wasn't as if I were being left out or rejected.  He rejected everyone equally where celebration was concerned.

A few years before he died he told me that he made mistakes raising us, that he failed us as a father, & that we were "shipwrecks."  Despite being insulted, I took it as him acknowledging that he never encouraged or supported our interests or ideas & never expressed approval of anything we accomplished, even if he approved.  In his own words, a 4.0 GPA was my responsibility.  No one made a big deal out of him working every day so why should I need praise for doing well in school?  School was *my* job & if I didn't go to school then I'd have to go get a real job like him.  (A note to parents: If you don't tell your child that they're doing a good job or doing something right, what makes you think they'll care enough to NOT do something wrong?)  I recall him making it to one of my "honor society" inductions or something like that.  He went "out of his way" to fit it in between service calls which were nowhere near my school.  He was visibly angry to be there, constantly checking the time.  He made his way to the edge of the large group of parents.  He ducked out a few minutes before it was over to avoid getting caught in traffic.  I didn't take it personally.

Fast forward to 2001.  It's been a rough 7 years since he & my Mom divorced but he's finally moving on.  It was hard to help him during that time because being around me reminded him of my mom & he tended to dwell on their divorce with me around.  He's no longer calling me in tears at all hours of the morning (he knew I was awake though).  He's no longer calling me with a list of instructions to follow if he dies soon.  I felt as if, for years, he didn't want to see me.  I can't speak for my 2 brothers or my sister, but, before he met his "new family" he spent every God damned night at his church.  They have quite a music program & he's a drummer.  He played in church.  They produced some of their own music.  With everyone having kept their own equipment at church, or donating equipment after getting upgrades, they pretty much had a studio I guess.  I would ask about coming over to see him & he would always respond the same.  He was going to be at church doing this or that or something.  I could go THERE & see him.  Well, he had "work" to do there so I just figured this is what was giving him a new reason to want to live.  I didn't take it personally.

All of a sudden I get an e-mail about this woman he wants me to meet, he wants to marry her.  She & her daughter spent nearly every evening with him.  At his HOUSE.  They went to movies once in awhile on the weekends & went to their favorite Mexican restaurant (formerly known as OUR favorite Mexican restaurant) every Wednesday night.  I took it personally.

We didn't speak for months.  A little while after 9/11 he called me crying, said he missed me.  I rushed to go see him.

< Insert tears here. >

I still took offense to him now spending every night with these people when he couldn't even take one night off of church every once in awhile to spend with me.  (Thank you, GOD.)  I saw him once in awhile, but only rarely.  I struggled to work at home because of insomnia (the only place I could fall asleep was behind the wheel).  I learned seed beading & began making earrings at home.  Buy the materials from the company (or buy them yourself), assemble at home, sell the earrings back for a small profit.  It wasn't much but it helped.  It was a freaking job for crying out loud & better than cleaning up after messy little brats in Burger King.  I started designing some of my own jewelry & brought some pieces to show him when I came over.  But jewelry is vain, he reminded me.  He disapproved.  Seeing my disappointment he tried to salvage the night.  "But I suppose you could call it art."

So I didn't see him often.  For what, to me, are obvious reasons, I hesitated to spend time around his new adopted family.  Knowing he made time for them, I tried to get him to do something with me, for once in my life.  But he always had plans with them now.  I didn't know how to take it anymore.  It hurt, but he was happy... so whatever.

Fast forward to his death.  He died in the hospital awaiting surgery to get a pacemaker.  My grandfather knew.  My aunt knew.  His fiancé & her daughter knew.  He didn't want them to tell us, so they didn't.  Something I hold against all of them because I would never have done that to them.  But he had his reasons.  In addition to feeling like it was me that didn't have time for him, he'd recently complained to me about my brother.  He (my brother) had been remarried for several months now, & although my Dad had invited them over or to go out to dinner several times, they were always busy (playing Everquest & Planetside).  He still hadn't met my brother's new wife!  I guess he showed us.

Fast forward (because the time it takes to put this all into words is too much) to 3 months after his death.  His "new" family was ready to move out of his house & into the house my Dad was fixing up for them when he died.  My sister & brother-in-law returned to take his trailer back to Virginia with them.  It was "perfect" for hauling around his race car.  (Drag racing.)  No one objected.  With the exception of my brother in Wisconsin, the rest of us (my sister, other brother, & myself) got together & helped his fiancé & her daughter move & sorted through some more of my Dad's belongings.

At one point his stepdaughter-to-be (who called him daddy) showed us some notes he wrote her.  He called her smart, said she was beautiful, said things like she could be anything she wanted to be, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah.  Later I received some pictures from his fiancé.  Some were group pictures... of the three of them... at my godparents' house... on his birthday.  They had a freakin' barbecue.  WTF?!  He FINALLY celebrates his birthday.  Ok, he wouldn't do it for me but at least someone convinced him to... & I WASN'T EVEN INVITED!!!

So here I am, the day after Halloween.  A mess.  Well meaning Christians, don't worry.  I do not actually blame God for this church "taking my dad away from me."  I just resent the church for representing yet another "somebody" that my Dad had all the time in the world for... because when he began to come out of his depression & for the couple of years that followed, he still didn't have time for me.  If I wanted to see him I could tag along for whatever he was doing with someone else.  I went to the church a few times for Sunday services.  But after his death, it seemed everyone else took over.  That damned church didn't even talk to ME, his only biological child, about his memorial.  His fiancé attended the same church & being in the music department he was close with the "clergy".  I felt like they just planned the whole thing & expected us to be grateful to have been invited.  Other than a few songs my brothers, sister, & I insisted they play, there was little mention of his life before that church, little mention of his "first" family & the kids he raised, & they just didn't even call or come to us at all concerning his memorial!  They didn't even refer to us about the date & if all of his kids could make it back to Oklahoma in time!  I haven't set foot in that church since.  I felt like my Dad died & we didn't even get to have a service for him.  IMHO, that's exactly the kind of stereotypical "Christians" that give the rest of us a bad reputation.  My God would never approve.  Their god is their own creation.  It's them & their god I mock.  & my Dad is not without fault for things happening the way they did.  Despite his young age, or my young age, or both, his death was not unexpected.  He had been diagnosed with congestive hear failure around 9 years before he died.  Most people die withing five years of developing CHF.  A few might make it as long as ten years.  Until he got back in touch with my godparents, started going to that church, & finally met someone else, *I* was the one he called at 3 a.m., when he was having chest pains & thought he might die.  *I* was the one making a list of what goes to who & what to do if he dies.  So I know damned well that he was keeping someone else up to date on his wishes.  & I don't think they would have done anything but what he asked of them.  That doesn't make it right to exclude his own children.  Apparently their god does NOT forgive.

I can give you all the details, my side of the story of his life & relationship with me before he died.  I don't know what to say about his death, not like I did Oma's.  I just logged onto WoW when I woke up yesterday & ran around doing Hallow's End quests until I couldn't keep my eyes open.  & intermittently searched through all the pics I've saved off DeviantArt... it was all I could think about.  I finally found it earlier today.  Not long before I started writing this, HOURS ago.

anaRasha's Don't Leave Me
It says what words cannot.

anaRasha = anarasha.deviantart.com
Don't Leave Me = anarasha.deviantart.com/art/Do…

Once I found it & looked it up again in her gallery I tried to write something about losing my Dad.  Despite our rocky relationship, I've always loved & needed him.  Growing up, I don't think he got much attention either.  Even when we didn't speak to each other or see each other for months, I believe we've always been closer than he was to his father.  He had a lot to deal with as a child.  He was always responsible for someone, being the oldest.  I remember when his mother died & we sorted through her clutter, we found things they had written as children.  Among them, a list of his younger sisters' misbehavior while his stepfather was gone.  Every time Kathy or Susan sassed their mom he wrote it down.  At 19 he married my mother, raised & almost adopted her three kids (their dad was never around), before having a miscarriage & finally me.  Anyway... all I could write when I tracked this image down was this:

_______

I know better than to sit at home, alone, on Halloween.  HE was born on Halloween.  HE never shared his birthday with ME, with US, but HE shared it with THEM.  I was never good enough to deserve spending special occasions with HIM, nor to receive the love that HE showed THEM.  But five years later, WHO is still mourning?

I CRY ALONE.
_______

I cried for awhile then made this, my first journal entry.  Maybe it (Don't Leave Me) will help me move on, but for now it says what I can't put into words.

P.S.
KYLE WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
=p
© 2008 - 2024 AlterDimensions
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AlterDimensions's avatar
I intend to submit the two essays I referred to in this journal entry... but not tonight. I'm beat. Or drained of all life. Same thing?

:depressed: :pills: