Post Father's Day Musings ... no pictures on this one, but definitely some big emotions. You've been warned.

Yesterday was Father’s Day, and we spent it with my dad, eating and swimming and having a really nice time.  Even considering that would have been laughable a few years ago.  You see, I have what some would call Daddy Issues.

My parents divorced when I was 5.  My mom raised me, with the help of my grandparents.  My dad had me on some weekends and holidays, and for a week or so in summer.  He wasn't exactly the lovey hugs kind of dad.  He could be harsh, gruff.  I always felt like I just wasn't quite good enough.  I had a lot of anger and resentment by the time I was a teenager.  And it just built and grew and it was yucky and difficult.

I made efforts.  I have a half-sister.  She’s ten years younger than me.  Born of my birthday.  Irish twins is what some call it.  I was not unhappy to have a sibling, but I wasn't really happy about it either.  I mean, damn, I don’t even get my own birthday.  She lived with him (and her mom), and I lived with my mom.  The age difference was just enough to make it awkward and we never really formed a sisterly bond.  I was hardly ever there.

Meanwhile, I went about my life, pissed off that she got my “happy family” upbringing.  I got a set of towels when I went to college.  She got a car at 16.  I would go over for Christmas and get maybe one or two gifts.  She had a mountain of them.  I was angry.

I sorta failed to see that I wasn't really being fair.  I had my own mountain of gifts at home under the tree from my mom.  And again from my grandparents.  But I was still bitter.  She had the dad that I always wanted.  The one that was there for school plays and weeknight dinners.  The one that took her camping and all that stuff that I never got.  That anger had some teeth, and it dug in.

By the time I finished college and started working, I rarely saw or spoke to my dad or my sister.  My dad’s voice had the ability to make me feel 6 years old and unworthy in about two syllables.  I HATED it.  So, I just didn't interact.  I missed my stepmother though.  She was always wonderful to me.  She never tried to take the place of a mom, but she made sure that I was loved.  She sewed me dress up outfits and clothes for my Barbies.  She made sure I got cards for holidays and all that stuff.  She was cool.

But distancing myself from him meant also distancing myself from my sister, and from my stepmother.  And also my grandmother.  I spent lots of time with her growing up.  I loved to go to her house and spend weekends, and she would often pick me up from my grandparents’ house and we would go do things together.  I remember she had a box of Legos at her house, and I would sit in the floor for HOURS, building things with those.  She made the best homemade pimento cheese, and this potato candy with peanut butter that was amazing.

I remember going to her house – the last time I did, in fact – as an adult.  She and I had a very long talk about dad and how we didn't get along.  She was sorry that she had missed so many years with me because of my strained relationship with him.  But she understood.  And she was cool.  It was probably the last time I saw her, though we talked on the phone a few times.

My stepmother passed away not long after my sister graduated from high school.  We communicated a LOT by email while she was sick, but I never went to see her.  She had cancer.  I don’t do well with emotional stuff and face-to-face.  I need a wall.  So email was good.  I wish I had gone to see her though. I said everything I needed to say to her.  She knew I loved her.  I knew she loved me.  But still.  I regret not sucking it up and being there.

After she passed away, I made a few attempts to connect with my sister.  We just have no common ground.  I hoped that as adults we could find a bond.  She’s my sister.  I love her. And we have built a relationship.  It’s not that strong sister bond that I never really knew I wanted until I was hitting 30, but it’s something.  And it’s better than it was.

I remember one day, I guess it was early 2000s, and Dad called me at work, on my birthday.  He said something about how I needed to be around more because he wouldn't be around forever, and that automatically pissed me off.  Then he said that he knew he hadn't been the best dad to me, but he had made peace with that, and I needed to get over it.  I hung up the phone without saying another word. And that was the last time I spoke to him for YEARS.  Just thinking about it now still pisses me off.  And it makes me angry cry.  

I still have Daddy Issues.  We will never discuss it, there will be no face to face, heart to heart.  Because I just can’t go there. Remember, I don’t do that very well.  I can write you a novel about it.  But don’t ask me to talk about it. 

I can make avoidance and denial an art form.  

Example:  My mom’s mother passed away while I was in high school.  It was sudden.  I was devastated.  Am devastated still.  She was … I don’t even have the words.  She was just the best.  I can’t even see the screen now because I have tears.  25 years and it’s still like it was yesterday.  And I still can’t go there.  At the time, there was no way.  I coped by denial.  I refused to go to the funeral home.  I refused to attend the funeral.  My mom was SO mad at me.  But she didn't force me, and I have to give her credit for that.  I know that wasn't easy for her.  And really, I should have been there.  For her.  But I just couldn't, not then.

I remember a trip to the cemetery after the headstone was placed.  I kept my eyes closed the whole way so I would have no idea where she was buried.  I didn't know for YEARS.  It wasn't until I was out of college and working and on my own that I one day had the desperate urge to know. I found myself in the office of the cemetery, sobbing and begging them to help me find her grave.  I go there quite often now.  It’s a peaceful place for me.  And I make flower arrangements for the grave site and just find my center.  But it took me a long time to get there.  And I still can’t talk about it without having an ugly cry.

Time passed.  And still I avoided my dad and all things surrounding him.  But I never wanted to be accused of not doing the bare minimum, so I always made sure I sent cards.  Father’s Day. Birthday. Christmas.  Always, even if we weren't speaking, I at least acknowledged that he was half of my DNA.  I found out that he had remarried again when I got the Christmas card and his girlfriend now had his last name.  I had a new stepmother, and I’d never met her.

My sister got married.  I didn't attend.  My sister got divorced.  I still don’t know why.  And I probably never will because I will never ask.  Hell, I don’t even think my dad knows.  We don’t exactly have that kind of relationship.  There are no deep secrets or truths.  I don’t know if we will ever get to that point.  If we are even able.

My sister had a baby.  I knew about it when I got the announcement.  And I was horrified. 

See, the baby was born in November.  And just a few weeks before, in October, POF and I had been costume shopping.  For the first time in years, we were going to dress up for Halloween.  And we went to one of those seasonal costume places that pops up.  We were shopping, looking for stuff, and I see this girl that works there.  She was cute, tiny with this adorable brunette bob, and HUGELY pregnant.  I saw her, and I thought, “Wow, she really resembles my sister.  But SURELY, I would know if my sister was about to have a baby.”

We found costumes, we checked out, and she just kept smiling at me.  And I smiled at her.  And we left.  I commented on how much she reminded me of my sister.  Then a month later I get the birth announcement.  And I knew.  HOLY SHIT.  That WAS my sister.  And I had no idea. NO FREAKING IDEA.  That was … well, it sucked.  And I was so damn embarrassed.  To this day I have NEVER mentioned that to her.  Because, she knew it was me.  But she never said a word.  I am still absolutely mortified about that.  I mean, who the hell doesn't know their own sister?!!? Not a proud moment, for sure.

I was acting as nanny for my college roommate and her husband’s best friend worked with my dad.  She had been to his house a couple of times for football game cookouts.  It was weird.  I guess he found out through their friend that I was the nanny.  He send the old reel-to-reel home movies of me as a kid over with the friend one day.  It was a surprise.  I had asked about them in a card before, but I didn't think I would actually ever get them.  It was a small gesture.  And I really didn't know what to do with that.  I was glad to have the movies.  I tried to send them back to him after I had a CD made, but word got back to me that he wanted me to keep them.  Okay.  I really wasn't sure where to go from there.

And then, a funny thing happened.  I got pregnant. 

Don’t get me wrong.  My mom is wonderful in so many ways.  And she loves being a grandma.  But her health is somewhat fragile and she just isn't able to be a running, jumping, climbing trees kind of grandma.  She isn't able to be there every day like her mother was for me.  My mother-in-law passed away before she was even officially my mother in law.  My father-in-law is not in good health, and he lives 14 hours away.  His relationship with the family is strained at best, so basically, my dad is the only grandfather that my son will ever know.  I wasn't really sure what to do with that information, emotionally speaking.

My sister’s baby girl turned one, and I went to the party.  I also made sure that my dad and stepmother were not going to be there.  Once I knew they were out of town, I was okay to go.  I figure that would be just too much for me to deal with at one time.  It was the first time we had really spent any time together in years.  It was all kinds of awkward.  Like, major MAJOR awkward.  By then I was 5 months pregnant myself, so it started a tenuous relationship between the two of us.  If nothing else, at least our kids could maybe grow up together and be friends.

Then, just before Christmas, my grandmother passed away.  I hadn't even really known that she was sick.  Just a few days before, my sister had texted me to tell me that she was in hospice.  She had stage 4 lung cancer.  I had been planning to go see her.  I got the text that she had passed about 2 am … I had been planning to go see her that day.  And I missed my chance.

Her funeral was on Christmas Eve.  We went.  It was the first time I had seen my dad in about 6 or so years.  It was a hell of a day for a reunion.  We didn't speak much.  He was glad I was there.  I wanted nothing more than to escape.  We muddled through.  I met my stepmother.  She was pretty great.  She invited us over for Christmas.  We went.  I was a nervous wreck.  They had a house full – her kids were in town.  I realized I had a step brother and a step sister.  I realized that I might actually kind of like that.  My step sister and I hit it off immediately.  Dad and I still didn't’ say much to each other, but I made it through. 

A week or so later, I went to my grandmother’s apartment to help them go through her things.  I hadn't even known when she’d sold the house until after the fact.  I wished someone would have told me, because there were things I would have liked to have.  But not even she thought to let me know.  I guess that shows how far I had really removed myself.  

There wasn't much left, but I took a few things.  And I have a photo album of pictures she kept of me, my life.  I never knew she tracked everything.  That was nice.  And my stepmother has some things that I know I will get someday.  It makes me happy every time I see her dogwood pattern dishes in the china cabinet at dad’s house.  I always loved those dishes.

And after that day, I realized something.  I had issues.  I might always have issues.  But my kid didn't.  So, I made a choice.  I would set aside my Daddy Issues for the sake of my kid.  I would let him have a relationship with his grandfather without any of my baggage.  It was terrifying.

We started a tentative relationship.  My sister and I celebrated our birthdays together for the first time since she was little.  We celebrated Mother’s Day together.  I still felt super awkward around my dad, and even now, 5 years later, I still like it best when I can use the husband as a buffer.  They get along so well, and that takes a little pressure off of me.  But I am getting better.

And let me tell you, the day I realized that I had essentially married my father was … a revelation.  POF and my dad are so much alike in so many ways.  It’s almost funny now.  But that day, when that realization hit me, was like the earth shook.  I had spent so many years avoiding the man, and here I had gone and married someone so similar to him, without even realizing it.  Huh.

About two weeks before I delivered, I had my baby shower.  My sister and my stepmother both came.  I give her some major props for coming.  She knew no one there except my sister, she barely knew me.  And yet she came.  And she met my mother, and she met my friends and family, and she had cake, and it was okay.  It was awkward, but it was okay.

They came to the house to see the baby a little over a week after delivery.  Dad held his first grandson.  I took pictures.  It was pretty neat.  Still a little awkward, but I think I might always feel a little awkward.  I think it’s me that makes it awkward for myself.  No one else feels it.  It’s all internal.  I still feel it at times, but it’s easier to push it aside now.

Slowly, over the past 5 years, we have built a relationship.  Those issues are still there, to some extent.  A few of those sore spots have healed.  Some probably won’t ever, but that’s more me than him at this point. I think.

We celebrate holidays.  We go over just to hang out and let the kids swim.  They take the grandkids to do stuff, have camp outs in the back yard.  It’s not as awkward any more.  I can actually enjoy being there.  I still like having the hubster there as a buffer, but I don’t have to.  When we get ready to leave, I can hug my dad and tell him that we had a great time and that I love him.  And I actually mean it.

I have let go a lot of my resentment of my sister, of their relationship as she grew up.  Yes, she had the dad that was there every day.  The dad that I never had.  The dad that I wished I had.  But … I still have my mom, my grandfather.   She lost her mom.  She needed dad more than I did.  And she had him.  And I am okay with that.  It makes sense.

And it has been totally worth it.  To hear my son say that he is so excited to go see his grandpa.  To watch the two of them play and have a good relationship.  To see him play with his cousins and watch him have a conversation with my sister.  To watch him hug my stepmother.  For all those little moments, all those memories.

I am so thankful that am able to give him that, with none of my baggage attached.

The one where I hate being stressed about finances

Right now I have less than $50 in my checking account.  The electric bill is due in three days, along with water, a student loan payment and a minimum on the credit card.  We are also almost out of milk and eggs.  I am a little stressed.

Some unexpected expenses came up, and we knew the next month would be tight.  Really, REALLY tight.  So, I should be prepared.  But then the battery in the van died, so now I’m driving the truck and that thing sucks gas like nobody’s business.

I’m sitting on $20k in credit card debt.  And yes, that’s my fault.  But it was accumulated over a period of years, and it was how we lived when we were both essentially unemployed.  It wasn't spent on extravagant things like vacations or big screen TVs.  It was spent on food and toilet paper.  I can manage the minimum payment each month.  And I still need it to buy gas.  That’s pretty much all I use it for now.  But that balance is still sitting there.  Because the minimum payment barely covers the interest due each month.  At this rate, I will never get it paid off.  And that means I can’t qualify for a home loan or a car loan.  And that freaks me out.

It also makes me anxious and angry.  We are good people.  We don’t live extravagant lives.  We try to help others when we can.  And so I have the thoughts … the jealous, envious, bitter thoughts that I hate even more than the circumstances.  Why us?  Why can’t we catch a break? Why do (fill in blank with name of friend/family member that seems to have such a greater amount of good fortune than we do) always just have luck and good things fall into their laps while we struggle and do without?

God, I hate myself when this shit runs through my head.  It’s so petty and it makes me feel like a horrible person.  But the thoughts are there. 

But here’s the thing.  I have a house.  I have a vehicle.  I have a job.  We do have cable and internet.  We do have cell phones.  The kid has more toys than he knows what to do with.  We do have food to eat.  And clothes to wear.  We have it so much better than so many people.

I know people who live literally check to check, moving money around to cover this bill this month, and that bill the next, always with bills late and things in danger of being cut off.  I know people who don’t have cable, or internet, or a cell phone.  Who don’t have more than one vehicle, or who have way too many people crammed into way too small of a space.  I am fortunate.

But still I am angry and frustrated and dammit, why can’t we catch a break?!  What this break is, I have no idea.  We aren't winning Powerball because I've never bought a ticket.  In order to get any sort of money, we would have to have a relative die … and I can’t exactly sit around hoping for Aunt Bitsy to kick so I might get a few bucks.  There’s no good karma that can come from that.

We work hard.  We do our best to pay our bills, ALL our bills, every month, on time.  We don’t spend things we don’t need.  Okay, yes.  We do go out to eat sometimes.  And if the boy has a really good week or two at school for behavior, we will get him a reward.  But usually it’s nothing over $20.  We aren't blind to our circumstances.  But that doesn't mean that I don’t feel like we are just digging this hole deeper and deeper and there’s no way out.

Our eaves and gutters need to be repaired.  One of our garage doors is broken.  The back door into the garage has a broken hinge so it hangs funny.  The flooring in the living room is coming up.  The wallpaper in the bathroom is starting to peel off.  The wallpaper in the kitchen has places that are pulled off from when the kid was little and saw a loose edge and couldn't resist.  The faucets in the tub and sink in the master bath drip … or in the case of the tub, there’s a small steady trickle. My front landscaping looks like something in an abandoned neighborhood where the weeds and bushes reclaim the houses.  We have WAY too much stuff, and not nearly enough room. And I just don’t even know where to begin.

So I don’t.  None of that can be taken care of right now.  Right now, it’s just about paying the bills and getting through to the next month without an overdraft or a declined card.  It’s survival mode.  It seems like it’s been that way for over a year.  Any mention of struggles to mom and I get a lecture about spending money and how she just can’t understand how that credit card could be so high.  That never helps, so I just don’t say anything.  Don’t get me wrong.  She helps us.  She helps us a LOT.  We wouldn't be where we are today, precarious though the finances are, without her help and support.  My family has kept us afloat through the worst of times.

Yet I still have those feelings of why us? Where’s our windfall?  Why can’t we ever get ahead? Are we EVER going to be able to have a nest egg? To be able to afford a vacation? Hell, to be able to afford a car payment if needed?

The future is equally scary.  We both chose career fields that aren't conducive to 401Ks and retirement plans and savings accounts.  We have no savings.  We have no 401Ks.  We have no safety net or backup plan.  It’s scary as hell.  And if I think about it too much, I will have a nervous breakdown.  So I just keep my head down, focused on one bill at a time.  One week at a time.  We will make it through.  We will find a way.  We ALWAYS find a way. 

I am so tired of always having to find a way and figure it out. I don’t want to be rich.  I don’t need a huge house or expensive cars.  I just want to be able to pay my bills and not be in panic mode 24/7.  I want to hear that the kid is invited to a birthday party and not have my first thought be about how we need to get a gift and where will we get the money for that?!

I think about getting some sort of side job for extra money.  But what?  I don’t have enough hours in the day to get things done now.  And what am I going to do?  I am a terrible sales person, so while the idea of all those “make extra cash on your own time, from home” sort of things like Pampered Chef or whatever sound great, the actual nuts and bolts of it would be horrible for me.  And yeah, I am creative, but I have no idea how to put the things I am creative at into action to make money.  Give me the tools and I can plan and research and nitpick it into amazingness.  But give me nothing but a vague idea and no direction, and I am dead in the water.

I want to have the kid in soccer or martial arts or send him to camp.  That’s just not our reality.  It’s not anywhere near a possibility. I don’t know if it ever will be.  Looking back on my childhood, I realize that there were a lot of years where we were technically poor.  But I never really knew it.  My grandparents made sure of that.  I never wanted for anything.  And my mom always makes sure that the boy has anything he needs.  But it breaks my heart to have to say “not this week” when he asks for a certain cereal or Popsicle or toy because we legitimately can’t afford it right now. 

Part of it is pride.  I went to school. I got a degree. I’m smart.  I work hard.  I pay my bills.  I’ll be damned if I am going to ask for help unless I just absolutely have to.  I hate it.  And the truth is, at this point, I don’t know what kind of help I’d even ask for.  Can someone please come write me a check for about $50,000 … no strings attached?  That’s not happening.  And I’m not holding out hope for some sort of intricately detailed plan for getting all our problems solved to come floating down from the heavens.  I don’t know what to do next.  I don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring.

I do know that I can’t give up.  And I can’t stop doing what I’d doing, even though it seems hopeless and fruitless at times.  I know that I am lucky, and have so much more that so many others.  I know that I will make it through, even if there are some bumps and bruises along with way.  And probably some tears.

At the end of the day, we do the best we can with the tools we have in front of us.  Tomorrow is a new beginning.