This post has a content warning.
A week and a half ago, my father passed away. We were estranged by his own doing, yet despite this, I loved him deeply.
What makes a seemingly kind person cut ties with their oldest adult child? This question has been plaguing me for 14 years - I simply could not make sense of it.
While I'm not alone in suffering adult child abuse, it's certainly a very hard one to come to terms with. "Why me?", I asked myself, over and over again. "Why didn't I get born into a family with a father who could love me like I deserve to be loved, like every child deserves to be loved? Why couldn't my children have a grandfather who could love them unconditionally?"
Since my father's passing, people have told me things I have never heard before - good things about me, about themselves, and about my Dad. While I am grateful to finally have this information, it is interesting to consider why people keep certain positive information secret, the same way shameful secrets can be buried. Does Anglo-Euro-Australian society enculturate people to withhold expressions of pride in each other?
I'm working on something longer to share, but this is all I have for now.
I was able to visit my father at his hospital deathbed, for which I will forever be grateful. I held his hand and looked into his unblinking eyes. I told him everything was going to fine, that the hospital staff were excellent, and that we all loved him. I shared my favourite memory of us together with him. His large hand was warm and strong, while his body slowly succumbed.
I made peace with my father the next day, after 14 years of pain and isolation. What a terrible shame.
Gen Memory
December 2024
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