Do you think there’s a legit reason that everyone on this planet is placed here? I am struggling with this concept. This hits VERY close to home for me, personally. Funny enough-I grew up so “ideally”. Allow me to rephrase that-we were seriously (I am going there!) the most beautiful, “all American” family who lived the most “dreamy” lives. My mother looks like Christy Brinkley (for real & is EXQUISITELY beautiful even without my being biased), my little brother was a toe head with gorgeous blue eyes & you’d melt despite how damn ornery he was, I was the perfect oldest daughter with beautiful long blond hair, blue eyes & a huge smile, my father was so handsome, with social grace from God & could make a 400 lb woman feel like she was Heidi Klum & IN THAT MOMENT THEY BELIEVED IT TOO. My dad taught me how to make shit happen. “The gift of gab”. That “No” simply isn’t an answer!! I am not some typical little girl gushing over her “daddy”. Allow me to preface that that dynamic has never been a part of our relationship. Quite honestly-I could never put my finger on it but from my very first memory on this planet-I NEVER felt that “my daddy is my hero” feeling or ANYTHING of the sort with my dad. If anything-I really felt this strange sense to avoid him. ***Being quiet, soft spoken or keeping to myself was NEVER a strength of mine regardless of the situation.
My dad was on top of the world. NOTHING was EVER wrong. LIFE WAS 1000% achievable. THERE WAS NO “NO”. If ANYONE said it-you proved their asses WRONG. It became a CHALLENGE.
We lived in the land of dancing to The Beatles, Sir Paul McCartney, Stevie Wonder, The Doors, Boz Scaggz to Barbara Streisand & their albums became the musical score to our lives. When I say that the fun was the MOST fun one could EVER imagine-I am talking it was euphoric! It ALL revolved around music! I can remember belting “Ebony & Ivory” amidst my parents most brutal arguments (my father being horrendously intoxicated) with my Dad in our living room as he held me up in the air (I was about 2) and we danced like a Prince & her Princess and all was right with the world. My dad & I lost in our own world while my mom looked on at us smiling while doing the dinner dishes. Dad was ALWAYS fine. Always.
And SCENE. I could write a book on the details & specifics so allow for me to cut to this chase. As I said, I was really never close to my dad unless in those RARE 2 min songs where reality was instantly forgotten yet plunged abruptly back into the moment that music ceased.
In the years following, my father would spiral out of control in a variety of manners & ultimately would suffer a massive stroke that although greatly altered his life-would not ultimately kill him. True to my DNA-I just couldn’t see that as an end. I wanted SO desperately to be his beginning.
I refuse NO as an answer. In fact-I LOATHE it. IT CHALLENGES ME (and pisses me off). I will be the very first to thank my father for the qualities for which he has instilled within me & hopefully within my babies. The issue is (as always) so much deeper than just that. Actually, ironically enough-those very qualities are ones that make me scream inside of my soul. Sadly, they are also ones I realized really never existed within my father at all. He was a fraud. He was weak. He was a facade. He was a lie. It was devastating. Again, details unnecessary.
My dad quit. My dad gave up. My dad turned into EVERYTHING HE bred me to believe was “weak”, “shameful”, “tragic & the epitome of failure.” I had grieved the loss of my dad despite him still being on this earth. Perhaps I had grieved the fact that I would simply never be loved the way every little girl deserves to be loved-ESPECIALLY in that perfect “picturesque” world in which I had lived for over 30 years. The TRUE GRIEVING was coming to the conclusion that the very man whom I thought I could fight for or whom actually instilled that tenacious (again, the very annoying) fire inside of me was the very individual who nearly extinguished that flame of mine.
I am a mom of 2 little ones. I am SO damn far from perfect BUT over my dead body would I ever stop trying. And ESPECIALLY when you have the means.
IS it horrible that I wish he would just have passed when I had the chance to remember him being SORT OF “honest” and “true” vs now that his true colors have officially displayed and advertised their more than ugly heads? I wish that I could have told my kids about some great man they never had the opportunity to meet vs one who sits a car ride away yet shows zero interest in them AND isn’t anyone he’s ever claimed to be to anyone hes “loved” anyway? What’s worse? Help.