Talked to my father yesterday.
He has dementia, but still recognizes people. I no longer feel the intense dread and stomach churning I used to experience before contact. He's no longer able to say really crushing things, although he can manage to lob the occasional well-aimed insult that can take your breath away.
He was a loner all his life. He never had one, single friend as far as I knew. He'd hang out with somebody for a short time, then take against them and never talk to them again after some sort of drama.
He was always suspicious of other people's motives. When I was growing up, he'd tell me that my friends didn't really like me, that they were just using me (for car rides, for example) and that my boyfriend(s) didn't really like me...they just wanted s-e-x.
Loner though he was, he suffered great loneliness. Especially as he aged. Before dementia set in, he wanted me to be his everything. I found this to be an overwhelming burden...especially after a lifetime of neglect. He'd call at all times of the day and say things like, "I just wanted to hear your voice," "I'm so lonely, don't forget about me," and "I'm calling to let you hear my voice with a sore throat...don't I sound sexy?"
It's nearly impossible to reconcile his neediness and expectation that I was to fill the vast void with recollections such as mine: the time he (and my mother) left me alone in the hospital because it was too uncomfortable there and they were "too upset"...the time he was angry that I might have cancer, because I might die and then who would take care of him? I knew I never could rely on my father, so never bothered him with any problems.
Now, whenever I visit or call...these dark memories follow me around.
He's fading, but the nasty memories are not. Yet. When I'm in contact with him, I may not be as upset as I once was, but little bits and pieces of the past waft around, like an unpleasant odor.
6 comments:
(Sorry deleted the 1st post. Found a really crazy typo!)
Once again, I can totally relate. I wear really short hair as does my mum as she gets older. The old bugger tells her how beautiful she is with short hair then turns to me and tells me I look like a man!
My parents are needy as well and all I can think about is sitting here two years ago (on March 1) without an ounce of support from my parents while I tried to figure out what you do after someone (my husband) dies. It only took them three months to make them selves available to me and that was for "show" when we held a celebration of hi life.
Mulderfan,
Okay...how mean is that? Pretty darned mean.
It's so darned hard to deal with the neediness...it's feels so wrong...after being neglected.
Your father sounds much like my own father. It's a form of PTSD, isn't it, when we get that rush of unpleasant feelings, or nausea, or panic when we speak with an N that we've been forced to be in contact with throughout our lives?
What upsets me is that this is somewhat invisible. While alcoholism, physical abuse gains automatic sympathy, all my friends and their parents would continually go on about how lucky I was. I was a "spoilt" child who had too many toys, went on many holidays to posh hotels and was reminded constantly how hard my parents worked to provide that to me. To this day, it's still generally believed that our family led a charmed existence and no one can understand "what happened to me" to turn out how I did. It's a terrible thing to have my identity erased by my parents, and then again by outsiders. I really hate people who say, "Just leave it behind and move on" because, as you say Nina, it's always going to be there, it has shaped who you are and it is important to acknowledge it. If I began denying it too, then my identity would disappear just the way my parents wanted.
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