The people I miss
So we all are familiar with the #TBT. Every throw back thursday is the same for me. I look through old pictures and I post with a hashtag. I’ve posted old photos of my friends and I, my spouse and I, my kids and I, some of my family and I have not posted any of my step father.
My last post I wrote about holding things in. Well, where as I don’t hold words in, and most of my feelings I do hold in sadness. I don’t know where I picked up the notion that it was a sign of weakness. But, I guess since I cry so damn much anyhow over silly things I tend to think I need to be the strong one in loved ones dying. I didn’t cry when my Memaw passed and I rationalize this by telling myself she was in too much pain to live. She was, I will never get the sound of her voice out of my head the last time I stayed over while she was sick in her bed. She screamed for a good hour about how she wanted to die, how this was no way to life, she screamed for Jesus to take her. I hated Jesus after that. I know that sounds harsh, I know it sounds irrational. But what is a 13-year-old to think. But I let him back in for a little while longer after that. However, I’m pretty sure my relationship with God was on the outs after that. After that day I saw her body lowered into the ground. (that wasn’t the only reason though, we’ll save that for another entry) I miss her so much, EVERY DAY!
Or my Grandfather who really got me politically, and agreed. Facts where our weapons and we used them well. Until Family drama happened and it ruined our relationship. I never really got to say good bye or mend anything. It’s probably the biggest regret of my life, considering I was not at fault for this. His funeral struck a nerve also really driving me to my feeling on organized religion. I miss him dearly, and I wish my kids could’ve known him for the great man he was.
But there is someone I really want to blog about, a form of therapy if you will.
My stepfather was an asshole, he was mean, some what abusive, yet caring. It took me until he passed for me to actually look back on things and see that all the times he didn’t handle things well, the intention behind ALL those times were perfect. The time I got hit the end of the fly swatter b/c I came home late. I was 10, he had no idea where I was, we were in a new state and I was not home, he was worried. I’m not justifying his actions, but can I blame him, his mother beat him much worst. The time I ran away and he called the cops to bring me home, the punished me for only a month. No cars with boys until I was 16 wasn’t to keep me outta cars, it was to keep me away from boys. All of those things and more not realized until it was too late.
I’m notorious for not answering the phone, and not calling people back. I hate the phone, I hate talking to ANYONE, I blame my teen years of CONSTANTLY being on the damn thing. He called 3 months before he died. I didn’t answer. I didn’t call back. He died. You realize how hard that is to handle, for selfish reasons. I’m selfish, I miss my father. I could sit here and cry the entire time I type this. But I’m sucking it up and dealing. I’m holding in, I’m a walking contradiction.
I know he’s better off, he had issues, he wasn’t happy. My mother divorced him and that was it for him, life was over. It’s not her fault, he knew that, I know that. She wasn’t happy and they were toxic together. He needed help and never got it, he drank it away, that is what I hated the most. He didn’t need the alcohol to be the fun man he could be. He needed it to push down the pain, of a father he thought was his that abandoned him when his mother and him got divorced, then telling his 30 some year old son he wasn’t his father and wanted nothing to do with him. he never got to meet his dad. He was always competing for the love of his mother who was constantly disappointed in him. So he turned to alcohol, and that made me angry. At him, at how he handled things, at the fact that he couldn’t be strong, at his mother, at his stepfather, at his brother. I have so much anger, and so much sadness.
There was no funeral, I received no call back from his mother. I have no real solid answers. I don’t think I can move on.
It will be a year this coming summer, and I’m not over it. I don’t think I’ve even begun to mourn.
good day to you all.