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.