April 3rd is my daughter's birthday. But before it was my daughter's birthday, it was the day my grandfather died. Last year, I blogged about one of my dad's finer moments. I honestly do appreciate him for the way he responded in that situation, and I will forever remember it as a positive part of my upbringing. However, there were many lows, and potentially, they triumphed the highs.
The days around my grandfather's death may have been one of his lowest parenting moments that still haunts me to this day.
I found out my grandfather died via email. I checked my email in the mornings before school everyday. It was my routine, something I liked to do before going to school. I also woke up early enough to be able to have luxury time to check my email. Rare for a teenager. And the day my grandfather died, I checked my email in the morning around 7 o'clock and saw it. I went to school in a daze that day, feeling like I didn't belong anywhere I was, even though it was what I was "supposed" to do.
That evening, my dad received the phone call at dinner. It was brief. After he hung up, he passed on the news to us and told us he'd send flowers.
Send flowers.
That was the moment I knew we weren't going to the funeral. There would be no buying plane tickets, no flying up, no going to be there with the rest of my family. This was my grandfather, my mother's father, who brought us back presents after every trip he took. This was my grandfather, who picked us up from school and let us stay at his house when my parents were gone getting treatment for my mother because we had to keep going to school (🙄 I have other thoughts on this. For another time.) This was my grandfather who created a special signal when calling so we knew to pick up before caller ID was invented. This was my grandfather who is the earliest person in my memory who told me I was smart and wise. And I wasn't going to be at his funeral.
The funeral was that Saturday. My dad had other plans for us. He told us about them in the morning. I didn't get ready. When he came upstairs to tell us to get ready and leave, I didn't move. I just sat there fuming. Why aren't we there? It was all I had to ask him. He knew what I was talking about. He knew why I was mad.
You didn't ask to go.
These five words haunted me and continue to haunt me 19 years after the fact. Because in these five words, he shifted the responsibility, the burden, the blame onto my 14-year-old shoulders. I didn't ask to go. I didn't say anything. I didn't communicate my wishes.
This. This was his lowest parenting moment of my life.
***
As an adult, I understand there was another perspective where had I spoken up and said something, the events which unfolded may have played out very differently. However, there are reasons why I did not speak up when I potentially should have. I wasn't raised that way.
I grew up learning I needed to follow instructions, do as I was told, and not to ask for unnecessary things or I'd get shot down. Ask for a toy? Rejected. Express my opinion on something? I was wrong. Not agree with an adult? Disowned. This mentality over the course of the years sank in, and I got good at being "good." So when my dad received the phone call and responded to us with simply sending flowers, I didn't verbalize anything I was feeling inside. I was being the "good" child I was taught to be - accepting the decisions of the grown-up.
And then he blamed me for it.
My grandfather died on a Wednesday. In the four days to his funeral, I must've grown up about a decade's worth because I rebelled and stood up to my dad for the first time in my life on Saturday. Had it happened four days earlier, the situation would have played out differently. But there's no time for what ifs.
My grandfather died less than a year after my mother died. It was unexpected and sudden. When my mother died, it was like the half of my family related to her began to drift away, too. After all, this wasn't his dad. So it wouldn't have surprised me if he didn't go. But he didn't even ask if we wanted to go.
I've speculated over the years if my dad selfishly didn't want to go himself, so that meant he wouldn't be taking us. At the same time, maybe he didn't want us flying alone or didn't think we'd want to fly alone so he didn't offer. Perhaps if we mentioned it ourselves, he'd feel less guilty letting us fly alone knowing we were okay with it.
I'll never know.
***
My relationship with my dad is still hindered and I have no doubt instances like this in my childhood still have an affect today. There's a lot of baggage which needs to be sorted through and hasn't. I don't know if it ever will. My dad isn't the same kind of grandfather to my children as my maternal grandfather was to me. I know he has his own reasons and thoughts. But I can't help but be sad for my children in this regard.
I know I parent differently and this experience is a big influential factor. I'm trying to spare my children from having memories like these. I know I can't prevent all of them and I will still make mistakes as a parent. But this hindsight helps to hopefully direct their upbringing on a better path, one filled with less resentment and pain.
I thought about waiting until April 3rd to write this, but that is my daughter's birthday, and honestly, I'd rather remember it as my daughter's birthday. I don't want to forget my grandfather, and I know I won't. But being reminded of this date as the day he died brings back this memory with my dad. I want this memory to lose the heaviness it bears. I cannot control what grief looks like after 19 years. This is a small glimpse of it. Grieving doesn't stop with the number of years which pass. It simply changes. Sometimes, it looks like a random bout of emotion during a wonderful week with my family during spring break.
And that's okay.
No comments:
Post a Comment