I've been thinking of my father a lot today. People always wondered how his death affected me as it seemingly didn't. I was warm and attentive at his funeral. I didn't even cry as I stood near his body. It did affect me in ways I cannot describe though.
When he died he left a vast amount of belongings, most of them very valuable on the property I now own. I was so devastated by his death that I left most of it to be stolen by town's people and hoodlums. It's been two years since he died and I still haven't been there. I have a crew removing all of the items (homes, furniture, tools, everything) off of the property. They seem surprised I don't want any of it. It doesn't surprise me. I have a crew of men removing everything so that when its done there will be nothing there but barren land. I know that if I go there now while his home is still there, it will kill me because it will remind me of the failure I have been as a son.
Due to the success I've had in life you may not understand this statement. I'll explain it though. My father was not a proper man. He grew up in an abusive home and as such became a rough man who frequently manipulated people. He eventually became a criminal. I can't begin to tell you how many times he has been arrested. He always bought his way out though. He would hurt and con people as a business. He did for all of his life. People always said my dad would give you the shirt of his back if you needed it, but he would always hike up the price.
He was not that good of a father either for a long period. He didn't have time for it. I was more an annoyance than an opportunity. There was never time for me. Things changed when he and my mother divorced. He started caring and making time for me. It was too late by that point. I was a teenager already. I was at a point where I was busy exploring the world had no interests in home. We had missed building those bonds when I was a child. As a result I would see him for a few hours on the weekend and then fill my time with other things. Even when I went to college I would only come in, see him for 30 minutes or so and then leave. He was happy about college. My father told me early on he didn't want me following in his shoes. This is surprising now that I think about it considering all of his illegal jobs he had me help him with. But I digress. So for a period of year you had the situation of my father begging for my time and realizing that the ultimate product of his life did not want to be around him. It is a sad portrait. As college went on I saw him less and less. He would make desperate attempts to see me (visiting, and calling), but as I said I felt we had no bonds.
Then came the sickness.
He had 6 strokes over the course of years. He eventually had a hear attack and another stoke which resulted in him being put in a nursing home. He became a shell of himself. He couldn't talk and I could never tell if he was aware of himself in the nursing home or not. That's bullshit, I won't lie to you. He couldn't talk but he was always aware. He could tell when my mother or I or my sisters walked in the room. He would half smile and try to hold hands with the one hand that worked still. I began to see him less at this point. I told my mother and father that it was because I was far away at school. This was crap though. I couldn't stand to see him that way. I felt ashamed every time I saw him. Dad dropped out of high school when he was 16 because his mother had cancer and he refused to put her in a nursing home. My dad took care of his mother and he always expected me to take care of him. I know this because he told me during one of his strokes. He was angry at me for a long time when first hospitalized. He wouldn't hold my hand, wouldn't look at me, and he actually tried to hit me once. He expected me to take care of him and I was too selfish. I put myself before my father.
I locked all those emotions away in the nursing home with him. I didn't visit because I didn't want to connect with those horrid feelings.
They knew he was going to die about a week before he died. I was called and I went to see him. I walked into the room and he was in his wheelchair, a wreck of an old man. I sat down and looked at him and 20 something years of emotions flooded me at once. I tell people I have never cried because most times I don't remember it, but I cried staring at my father, I couldn't stop. I tried to talk to him but I couldn't stop crying or whimpering. All I could say was "I'm so sorry" over and over. Tears streamed down my face and tainted my shirt. My father grabbed my hand and said the one word he said to me in years he was in a nursing home. He said "No." He shook his head at my tears. I still to this day don't know if he didn't want to see his son cry or if he was angry at my show of love at this late stage and not sooner.
I went back to college and was called a week later. He was dying. My sisters and mother were there. I spoke to him over the phone. He couldn't speak then but I was hoping he could hear me. He died while I was 6 hours away. My mother called and told me.
I still distance myself from these memories and from him because it hurts. I wish I had him back. I wish we could take a walk through the past and change things.
Correction; I did go to his (my) home one time since he died. I went through all of the property and got samples of his favorite books and records. These were samples of my father's life I had to keep as a way of holding on to the man I thought would never fall. I have a book of my father you know. It has his birth certificate, death certificate, marriage certificate, divorce certificate, army papers, and copies of the many court hearing he attended (he was a criminal lets face it.)
When he died he left a vast amount of belongings, most of them very valuable on the property I now own. I was so devastated by his death that I left most of it to be stolen by town's people and hoodlums. It's been two years since he died and I still haven't been there. I have a crew removing all of the items (homes, furniture, tools, everything) off of the property. They seem surprised I don't want any of it. It doesn't surprise me. I have a crew of men removing everything so that when its done there will be nothing there but barren land. I know that if I go there now while his home is still there, it will kill me because it will remind me of the failure I have been as a son.
Due to the success I've had in life you may not understand this statement. I'll explain it though. My father was not a proper man. He grew up in an abusive home and as such became a rough man who frequently manipulated people. He eventually became a criminal. I can't begin to tell you how many times he has been arrested. He always bought his way out though. He would hurt and con people as a business. He did for all of his life. People always said my dad would give you the shirt of his back if you needed it, but he would always hike up the price.
He was not that good of a father either for a long period. He didn't have time for it. I was more an annoyance than an opportunity. There was never time for me. Things changed when he and my mother divorced. He started caring and making time for me. It was too late by that point. I was a teenager already. I was at a point where I was busy exploring the world had no interests in home. We had missed building those bonds when I was a child. As a result I would see him for a few hours on the weekend and then fill my time with other things. Even when I went to college I would only come in, see him for 30 minutes or so and then leave. He was happy about college. My father told me early on he didn't want me following in his shoes. This is surprising now that I think about it considering all of his illegal jobs he had me help him with. But I digress. So for a period of year you had the situation of my father begging for my time and realizing that the ultimate product of his life did not want to be around him. It is a sad portrait. As college went on I saw him less and less. He would make desperate attempts to see me (visiting, and calling), but as I said I felt we had no bonds.
Then came the sickness.
He had 6 strokes over the course of years. He eventually had a hear attack and another stoke which resulted in him being put in a nursing home. He became a shell of himself. He couldn't talk and I could never tell if he was aware of himself in the nursing home or not. That's bullshit, I won't lie to you. He couldn't talk but he was always aware. He could tell when my mother or I or my sisters walked in the room. He would half smile and try to hold hands with the one hand that worked still. I began to see him less at this point. I told my mother and father that it was because I was far away at school. This was crap though. I couldn't stand to see him that way. I felt ashamed every time I saw him. Dad dropped out of high school when he was 16 because his mother had cancer and he refused to put her in a nursing home. My dad took care of his mother and he always expected me to take care of him. I know this because he told me during one of his strokes. He was angry at me for a long time when first hospitalized. He wouldn't hold my hand, wouldn't look at me, and he actually tried to hit me once. He expected me to take care of him and I was too selfish. I put myself before my father.
I locked all those emotions away in the nursing home with him. I didn't visit because I didn't want to connect with those horrid feelings.
They knew he was going to die about a week before he died. I was called and I went to see him. I walked into the room and he was in his wheelchair, a wreck of an old man. I sat down and looked at him and 20 something years of emotions flooded me at once. I tell people I have never cried because most times I don't remember it, but I cried staring at my father, I couldn't stop. I tried to talk to him but I couldn't stop crying or whimpering. All I could say was "I'm so sorry" over and over. Tears streamed down my face and tainted my shirt. My father grabbed my hand and said the one word he said to me in years he was in a nursing home. He said "No." He shook his head at my tears. I still to this day don't know if he didn't want to see his son cry or if he was angry at my show of love at this late stage and not sooner.
I went back to college and was called a week later. He was dying. My sisters and mother were there. I spoke to him over the phone. He couldn't speak then but I was hoping he could hear me. He died while I was 6 hours away. My mother called and told me.
I still distance myself from these memories and from him because it hurts. I wish I had him back. I wish we could take a walk through the past and change things.
Correction; I did go to his (my) home one time since he died. I went through all of the property and got samples of his favorite books and records. These were samples of my father's life I had to keep as a way of holding on to the man I thought would never fall. I have a book of my father you know. It has his birth certificate, death certificate, marriage certificate, divorce certificate, army papers, and copies of the many court hearing he attended (he was a criminal lets face it.)