Ready to Face the Truth

Photo by Steve Sharp on Unsplash

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Father’s Day is coming up and it’s 6 month’s since Dad died. The 7 - or 5 depending on your point of view - stages of grief have passed me by. I went from shock and anger quite quickly to acceptance, with a touch of low mood on the way, mostly activated by a host of other issues, unrelated to his death. I’m not happy about the circumstances surrounding his death (the hearing is in September) but I’ve come to terms with where we are. I note his absence sometimes, like now, or when I see premiership football advertised on the TV, or looking at photos of our wedding last week. There will always be a gap in the universe where Dad existed, but it’s hard to miss something you never really had. Our relationship was always rocky and although we had an uneasy truce, we were often both on the edge of eruption a lot of the time. With little in common, and scant communication, there was never much basis for any meaningful relationship. We were estranged for a while, but it was hard to shut him out of my life when he and Mum still lived together (they would have been 70 years married this year!) I honestly did my best by him, despite my feelings of dislike and anger.

As he aged, Dad became increasingly anti-social, critical and belligerent. He was a popular guy when he was younger and even into his 60’s and 70’s, but ageing didn’t agree with him and Covid was a complete game-changer. He became more introverted, barely spoke to Mum and when the lockdowns ended, he failed to go back to his clubs (bowls, bingo, and lunch club). He was undoubtedly suffering from depression and I think he was also afraid of going out, of contracting Covid still, although he would never discuss his thoughts or feelings. He blamed Mum - the need to look after her - for his lack of social life. He withdrew and became quite bitter, critical and unhappy - obsessed with money, despite rarely spending any. He could never understand why my sister and I weren’t motivated by wealth. I’m sure his upbringing in a large family with little money to spare probably had an impact on his attitude, although his brother - the only one we knew - couldn’t have been more different, so it’s hard to tell quite why the Silas Marner aspect of his character took hold. He could be very generous with money and often was with my sister and I, but he withheld money from Mum for things that she would have benefitted from. It wasn’t his money to withhold either, as they both had state and occupational pensions which went into the same pot.

My sister has her own story to tell. I don’t feel it’s my place to tell it here, but she is feeling guilty because life is easier for her, caring for Mum, without Dad’s interference. Working around his prejudices and miserliness made the day to day practicalities much more difficult for her and she feels nothing but relief now that she doesn’t have to navigate an extra layer of complication.

There are facts about Dad which don’t change with his death. He may have ‘stuck’ with Mum for nearly 70 years, but he wasn’t kind to her, in fact her could be downright nasty. He resented her being ill and disabled. He did a certain amount of ‘looking after’ by simply being there, but on his watch she would have either starved to death or died of an infection and I’m not even exaggerating. It’s the reason my sister and I stepped in originally. Not speaking ill of the dead is a strange mantra. It’s only now Dad is dead that my sister and I feel able to discuss and explore some of the complex emotions we have surrounding his life. He would never discuss anything - past or present - so it was impossible to have any serious or sensible debate about how his behaviours impacted us as kids. I know someone people think you should leave the past behind and move on, but it’s hard to do that when it’s the past that has shaped so much of your life, when trauma, lack of parental love and abuse have marked your early years.

I got to a point in my twenties where I drew a line under the things that happened in my childhood and moved into a space where I could love my Dad in practical ways, but I never liked him. I tried to empathise with where he found himself in his later years after knee surgery that wasn’t very successful and with a chronically ill wife. His unhappiness was evident, but it was difficult to be sympathetic, when he caused a lot of the negativity, when he had the power to be more content and refused.

My sister is seeking counselling to deal with the fall out, not of Dad’s death, but of his life. As a trained counsellor (though not practising) I’ve been fortunate to have enough tools to process my own hurt, to understand my behaviours and reactions and through cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) largely address the issues. Nothing is perfect. There are scars. His death tugged at some of them and I already know I will write much more about the man who shaped my early life and beyond.

As we celebrate Father’s Day in the UK, I will try and remember him for some of the good times, but there will always be a looming shadow of menace hanging over those thoughts.