It's not all about mum

Well here we are again, what a relief to not have have to start the blog with "Wow, it's been a minute" because I wanted to get out part two before "the feeling" passed. Which means two blogs in one day. A new milestone. N'er to be repeated LOL

So there's always another side to a good story, right? An element of surprise, perhaps? A left-field moment, almost a side moment, that becomes bigger than the story itself.

For me, this was the time spent with my Dad.

All my language around seeing my mum, is exactly that. I message my sister to ask if I can see my mum. I'm desperate to see my mama. Hug her. See her face.

My Dad doesn't even feature in my mental equation. If I have to see him when I see my mum, I will. But it's a hassle. He's draining. Selfish. Self-absorbed. A bit of a joke in our family.

When I spoke with Evonne the night before, we were both discussing Dad in the way we always have. "Oh gawd...what's he doing now?" Catching up on the way Dad irritates or offends everyone in different ways. There's always eye-rolls galore.

The family dynamic has always been, for me, I love my Dad (because I have to) but I do not respect him, not one bit.

He was a very authoritarian figure growing up. Angry. So angry. Abusive. Violent.

Also, bafflingly, only concerned with himself. Never asks how you are. How the kids are. Totally immersed in his own experience, apparently unconcerned with others. Did I already say selfish? Yes, I did.

The family dynamic has also been Dad was the villain and Mum was the victim. Mum carried the family. We wanted to be like Mum, not him. Ugh, not him. For her to be the one with dementia, at this point, seems like a cruel joke. Why couldn't Dad bloody have it? (It's horrible to say that, but it's true - here I am wishing dementia on unsuspecting 85 year olds in shops and on my own father.... gah)

I've always been plagued with the knowledge however, that I am very much like my Dad. I've worked hard to not take on the destructive parts of his personality, and felt a lot of shame over the years in recognizing when my behavior was "just like Dad". "You're just like Dad" was probably the worst insult in our family growing up.

But I am passionate like my Dad, I love music like my Dad does, he grew my love for other cultures and languages, I am a softie like him - not afraid to show my emotions. Despite his flaws, I know he adored me. I suspect I was his favorite (before I left the family religion) even to the point I saw how he put down and criticized my sisters and said the complete opposite to me. Ugh. He thought I was beautiful, I know that. He seemed proud of that.

Anyways, it was complicated. And it still is.

I left being a Jehovah's Witness in 2003, and since then, our wobbly relationship has pretty much gone. I saw him the day after I had Amelie (2005) and then a couple of visits, and then finally the day before we left to live in the United States in 2017. After that, we spoke when Mum was suddenly diagnosed with dementia in 2020 after a seizure in the back garden. I was blown away that he didn't take one moment to ask after my family, I was hurt he didn't ask how I was, knowing my mum had effectively forgotten her daughter in one day. He tried to ram some scriptures down me, and the conversation lasted a moment. I was just generally pissed off afterwards, but not surprised.

So all of that is coming with me to visit my mum. I'm there for mum, remember? Not him.

We arrive at the house, and I've just composed myself. I don't want to cry and confuse Mum. We go to the front door and my Mum is there beaming, "Hello! Oh, I can't believe you came! You look so well". I have bags of stuff - gifts and flowers and groceries, so I go to the kitchen to put everything down, saying "Dad?" and as I turn the corner, I see him. 

And oh my God, I kid you not, I say "Daddy!" and burst out crying, hugging him. He's frail, using a stick, but still mentally with it, and I'm holding him close and saying "I've missed you so much, I love you so much" over and over...

I don't know what it was. Maybe having my mother there, and knowing she probably greets the cleaner as happily as she greeted me, that I can never really tell her how much she means to me - not in the way I want to anyway. I never really told her what an amazing mum she was, and now that I have 4 kids I know how hard it must have been for her. If I'd known what was going to happen, I would have put my hands around her face and made sure she knew how much she meant to me the last time I saw her. It all felt like a missed opportunity.

But not with Dad. Dad was here, now. And I'm stubborn like him, but not so stubborn that I couldn't see in that exact moment, I sure as hell was not going to make the same mistake with my other parent.

He might be disappointed with my life choices, but throughout the time I was there he was looking at me with the same delight as Mum, he kept saying how beautiful I was, how I didn't look 43 years old at all, how well both Roddy and I looked, how happy we both seemed. I showed him pictures of the kids (I know he'd love my kids because they are so lovely and polite, my Dad is not a fan of "little ruffians" or basically child related noise now says my sister) and we FaceTimed them while we there. He seemed almost shocked that me and Roddy, as "worldly" as we are, could produce such wonderful human beings and have such a happy marriage.

It was magical.

Healing.

Unexpected.

Wonderful.

Roddy and I said afterwards, the two of them, my Mum and Dad, seem to make up one functioning human. Dad has MS (multiple sclerosis) and uses his cane, struggles to walk - but mum is strong and physically able. Mum is in her own little world, dementia having taking fully hold, but Dad is pretty good. Gets the groceries. Reminds Mum to drink her water. They've been married for 50 years in 2024, and he dotes on her. When I complimented Mum on her pretty outfit and how lovely she looked, my Dad said proudly "I keep telling her that, she's still as lovely as she ever was!" It made my heart melt.

When we went to leave, we insisted they both stay sitting on the sofa and not get up to see us out. As I reached down to hug Dad, we both started to cry again. I don't know if he was thinking what I was thinking, but it seemed like he was. I didn't want to leave at all. I made sure to tell him again I loved him so much, and I was glad he was my Dad. I know he did the best he could with what he had... and often it wasn't enough... but it was another portion of peace I wasn't expecting to be served that day.

Since we came home, I've found myself thinking about the good parts of my childhood. How fun he was, dressing up and being stupid, singing a lot. How he'd change the words of songs to make them PG (Paul Simon's Cecilia became "making bread in the afternoon, with Cecilia up in my bedroom" that always confused me. I thought Dire Straits said "Money for nothing, and checks for free" for decades) How I would rest on his chest, and I'd hear the deep timbre of his voice rumbling and feel so peaceful. How he used to make me learn Spanish, and pronounce everything properly like a local on holiday, and then beam when the locals would say I was "muy guapa"!

And also, how we had so many hardships growing up, moving from Ireland to UK for work... our house being repossessed during the huge recession in the eighties... I remember hearing him talk about getting thousands of pounds together for the mortgage and then the bank taking the house away anyway. Emergency housing that we pretended to live in as Dad thought it was too unsafe, and staying in a friend of friends house. What it might have been like to downgrade your dreams (my Dad was a dreamer) and end up in social housing for the rest of your lives. What it must be like to be in your seventies, and your wife of 50 years who finally retired, moving straight into dementia. I just have been feeling so many things about Dad. Things I haven't thought about for a long time. How he was a victim in many ways too. 

I fussed over mama, yes... just savoring the moments with her. But the moments with my Dad totally blew me away. The redeeming grace of love, whatever has passed. He's still my Daddy.

💜