Day 92: Grandma and Dad

This morning, I got a Facebook message from my cousin. She and I keep vaguely in touch on Facebook, but haven't talked in years. She and I were never really close. I was older than she was and I was closer with my aunt who was more like a good older girl friend to me during my high school and college years.

I opened the message wondering what she had to say. It said to call her ASAP. I was instantly worried my aunt had died. She isn't sick or anything and isn't very old, but that was the only reason I could think of that she would need me to call her. I didn't even think about Grandma.

Until my cousin said that she had died. She was my last grandparent. My mom's parents both died when I was very young. I only have the vaguest of memories of my mom's mom from my early childhood and remember a picture of my mom's father holding me before he died when I was still just an infant. My dad's dad died when I was in college. I remember my dad telling me about my his death. We didn't have much to do with them, but it was hard emotionally for the same reasons hearing about Grandma is hard today. If hell is a real place, I worry that they are both there.

My dad's parents were the type of parents that makes me sick when I see it in my students' lives. They were abusive to the extreme to my dad and his sisters. They abused everyone they came into contact with. We were very protected from them as children. While my dad wanted us to have family, he kept us sheltered from them.

We visited with them from time to time. I think we visited my aunts and them around every four or five years. They came to see us a few times. But we were never allowed to be alone in a room with them and if my dad felt they were acting poorly, he would protect us from them. I have no negative memories of them personally, but I know they damaged my dad and aunts beyond healing.

While God can heal us because He can do all things, the depth of the wounds were such that evidence remains forever. My dad's personality and behavior still exhibit the scars of his childhood. He never became an abuser like so many abused children do, but he has issues that seem to stem from his childhood.

I have so many deep emotions about losing a family member, even one I am not close to, because it reminds me how fragile our lives are. Part of my dad's issues has led him to become extremely religious to the point that almost no one can satisfy what he believes are God's requirements for being a true Christian. He hasn't spoken to me in about a year and a half. And less than ten times in eight years.

I tried to call him tonight to see how he was doing after his mother's passing. He wouldn't talk to me. I know he called my aunt today, but he wouldn't speak to me. My sister answered the phone, probably two feet from him. She said she would pass on the message, but he knew I was on the phone and couldn't summon ten minutes to have even a casual conversation with his oldest daughter.

I know I am going to lose him. I've really already lost my father. He wasn't happy with me because my ex-husband had an affair and I didn't make him leave. I made him sleep on the couch, but did everything I could to repair our marriage and protect his already damaged children. He quit talking to me before the divorce was even final. I really don't understand what I did. But somehow I didn't measure up.

The last time I spoke with him was because of the shooting at Fort Hood. He answered the phone that day to make sure we were all OK. We talked a few times that week. We've exchanged five or six emails since, usually at the holidays. I've invited him to visit. I've called. I've emailed.

But I guess I just don't get to have a father. Nothing I do is good enough. Nothing I say seems to make him understand underneath all my poise, confidence, knowledge that I am inside just a little girl who wants her daddy to love her.

He would say that he does love me and prays for me daily, but you can't hug that kind of love. And I can't even count the number of issues I have with self-esteem in part because my dad's love is and hasn't been tangible for much of my adult life.

I'm a sinner. I've done things I regret. I have never killed anyone or cheated on a spouse, but I've been full of pride, I've gossiped, been cruel, drank too much, etc. etc. But if God can love me and forgive me, why can't my dad?

I don't know and I always feel so incredibly lost when I think about it. It hurts so much. So today when I heard my grandmother died who was always this crazy figure from my childhood, full of life and laughter, but dark underneath the surface, I teared up not for the grandma I lost, but for the grandma I never had. And then for the dad I will lose/have lost. My heart aches in sadness.



I even looked at buying a plane ticket to go visit him, a man who won't even take my phone call. I want him to hold his granddaughter, to hold me. I realized my daughter lost her great grandmother today, even if she would never have met her, I don't want her to lose her grandfather without ever meeting him. I'm really close to just driving to the house (yes, all the 25 hour drive) and ambushing him.

Why do the people we love the most hurt us the most? Why do we hurt the people we love the most? Family is a double-edged sword. And I just seem to keep getting sliced.