My Dad

My father and I have a complicated relationship. We were very close when I was a child, but as addiction began to rule his life during my teenage and young adult years, our relationship dissolved and what remains is a shell of what once was. Now, I visit him every couple of months, and I dread it. I have no idea what the visit will bring in terms of his mental condition and combativeness.

My father retired from the military at the age of forty. He then retired from state government five years later. That was twenty-years ago. He hasn’t worked a day since, nor has he taken care of himself. His days are spent watching YouTube, sleeping, and complaining about his deteriorating body. What once was a man who took pride in his appearance, he is now anything but. You could mistake him for being ten or fifteen years older than he actually is, and his mobility is just one step above a wheelchair. Things have been trending down for him for years, but instead of taking the advice of doctors, physical therapists, and myself, he’s chosen to deal with his chronic pain with opioids, alcohol, and other substances. His teeth are falling out and the man who once had women fawning over him when I was a child is no longer there. Time and life has not only caught up to him, but passed him by.

I harbored quite a bit of resentment towards my father over the years. I blamed him for putting me into a position in my late teenage years that made my adult life much harder than it needed to be. Then as I spent my adult life struggling financially, I watched him game the system into a huge government paycheck, all while complaining about others taking advantage of the system.

The complexity of politics only made things worse. Growing up, my father was pretty apolitical, but as so many of his peers have done, he is now engulfed in the internet outrage and twenty-four-hour news cycle. Five or six years ago, I asked him to stop bringing up politics since we were clearly on opposite sides and nothing good came of the debates, but he never respected that boundary and that has only fueled the anger inside of me. I feel compelled to stay up on things, just so I can react when he attempts to provoke me. I find myself ruminating in the shower after reading a news article about how I’m going to use it against him or to defend myself. It’s complete and utter nonsense and something I’ve worked hard to stop doing this year.

Recently, I wrote about The Tools, and one of the Tools involves sending love towards someone, not as a way to forgive them or accept them even, but as a way for you to escape the maze you may find yourself in. I know this all too well, because I tend to live in such mazes when I feel that I’ve been done wrong or I’m irritated with someone. When I first read about this Tool, I couldn’t help but think of the rumination. The constant maze of overthinking in preparation of dealing with whatever may (or may not) come my way during the next visit. So, I began to use it. I wasn’t really sure if it would work, but what did I have to lose? Twenty minutes in the shower pissed off? A frustrating drive to work rehearsing an argument?

This past weekend I visited my father for the first time in six months. He’s dealing with some severe health issues and is currently waiting for results of a biopsy. When I walked in and saw him stumble towards me, I didn’t feel the defensiveness I normally have towards him. I didn’t feel as much irritation. Instead, I felt a bit of sympathy for the feeble old man who stood before me. He barely sat down before he went on an overly aggressive political rant that was no doubt thrown my way as a challenge, but I just smiled and remained quiet. I didn’t feel compelled to respond. What once irritated me to no end, I could now see for what it was. The delusional ramblings of morally bankrupt addict, who lacks the intelligence to realize how algorithms and news corporations are manipulating him into saying that’s seem completely foreign from the mostly kind man who I grew up with.

My wife and I sat on his couch quietly, playing with his new puppy, and listening to the same conversation we’ve had for the past twenty years. I heard about all of his doctors visits, all of his pains, and his inappropriate comments about his various female doctors. I watched as he farmed for sympathy and talked about how this might be the end. I caught myself tuning out, as I tend to do. Pretty much any conversation I made went right over his head. He was too out of it to pay attention, and it didn’t feed his narcissism so to him it wasn’t worth listening to.

I watched him snap at my stepmom and even his new puppy, and I realized the man before me was not the man I grew up with. At times, I’ve tried to hold onto the good memories and the fun times, but now, as I’ve grown older, and he’s grown older, we’re very different people and the person he’s become is not someone I like.

As we drove home, my wife and I discussed the visit and how draining it always is. She made a comment that there will probably be some relief when he passes for me, and at first, I was a bit taken back. I will no doubt be sad, but I don’t think I’ll be sad for the man today who passes, but I’ll be sad for the man who once was, and the man he could have been. The years wasted, where a bottle and pills were more important than creating a relationship with his children. I’ll be sad for the man who had it all. A beautiful home, a loving family, and a healthy retirement at the age of forty, but couldn’t shake the addiction, just like his father before him.

I realized after this weekend, I don’t harbor anger towards my father anymore. I don’t feel compelled to argue with him, to demand respect, or prove my worth. I don’t know if that Tool helped or maybe its just part of growing up. But now, I see my father for what he truly is and if this biopsy comes back the way we all expect it to it won’t be something I have to deal with much longer. And that truly is a shame, because things didn’t have to be this way.

I made a choice in my late teens, that when confronted with a tough decision, I’d ask myself what would my father do, and I’d do the opposite. It’s served me quite well over the years, and I as enter my mid-life, I’m going to continue to learn from my father what not to do, just so I don’t grow into the same angry, feeble old man that he did.