My mom called me at work last Friday. I was away fixing a computer, so I didn't get the message until it was about time to go home.
Here's the gist of the message she left.
"You'll never believe who just showed up at the house! Your father!! We spent about two hours talking. He says he wants to talk to you. I didn't give him your number, but instead took his and said I would give it to you. Talk to you later. Bye!"
I'm at a loss to explain how I feel about this, but two words come to mind:
Nausea & Anxiety
The nausea is caused by the anxiety. The anxiety is caused by many things. Here are a few for your reading displeasure.
- THE BEGINNING! My father slept through my birth. Not at home in bed, but in the hospital room where my mother was. He grabbed a chair, went across the room, kicked back and slept! No, this shouldn't bother me, but mixed in with the rest of it, it cheeses me off to no end.
- My father was never around physically. As far as I know, he worked horrendous hours that kept him away from home during prime dad time (after school - bedtime). I know plenty of dads who work long hours and aren't able to see their kids as much as they like, but when they have time off, they spend it with their kids. If my dad had time off, I never knew about it.
- He didn't stay at any one job for very long. My dad wasn't very good at taking orders or constructive criticism. A supervisor would ask/tell him to do something and if he didn't want to do it, he would quit. (positive note: he never went long before finding another job)
- We moved a lot because of his job hopping. I can remember 11 moves by the time I was in 5th grade. I didn't do to well with all the moves. I would experience a lot of anxiety and for the first few months in our new home, I wet the bed. I was about 9 when I finally was able to stop doing that. My anxiety showed in other ways. I bit my nails until they bled and I was painfully shy. I know a lot of you won't believe that, but up until I went through boot camp, I was deathly afraid of speaking to anyone. Ask my mom, I wouldn’t even talk to her.
- I don’t know that he meant to be mean, but it definitely came across that way to me. It’ll probably sound trivial to you, but I hated it, hated it, hated it!!! If you sat next to him on the couch, instead of putting his hands on the couch to help push himself up, he would put his hands on our thighs, squeeze VERY hard and push himself up. It would leave bruises, he squeezed so hard. Amidst our cries of pain, he would laugh. I really want to believe that he didn’t understand just how much it did hurt.
- Next on the list is something I hope my father wasn't conscious of. From the time I was very small (my first memory of it I was around 3) my father would make friends in our new ward and we would go over and visit. The adults would gather in one room and send us kids off to play in another. More times than I care to admit, there was pornography. As an adult looking back, I assume it was the parent’s (LDS mind you!!!) and that the kids had found it. Was this a case of like attracting like? Later, when my parents split up, we kids lived with dad for the first few months. That was hell on earth. He stocked the fridge with beer, the VCR with porn and his bedroom with magazines. He made no effort to hide it from us or make us leave if he had it on while we were there. Obviously he was conscious of his actions then! I will own up to being seriously screwed up because of this.
I don’t hate him or wish him ill, but I’ve never gotten around to forgiving him. I’m closer than I was 15 years ago, but I still dislike him. I seriously don’t want to be around him, but another part of me doesn’t want his funeral to be the next time I see him.
I also found out from my mom that he is going back to church. He lives close by and I had to think for a second and reassure myself that he isn’t in my stake. Holy crap, that would have been weird.
What if he decides to REALLY become active, gets his temple recommend back and I bump into him while I'm working one Wednesday?!?!?
I know I need to talk to him and forgive him, I just need to get up the guts to do it. Anyone want to volunteer to go with me? You wouldn’t have to do anything except be there. I see it as being in the dark. It’s scary and lonely, but if you have a friend along, your courage somehow kicks in and things aren’t quite as scary as when you were alone.