Tag Archives: Family Conflict

Day Fourteen: Lost time – Part IX

Did you miss Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, or Part VIII?

I couldn’t believe myself! How could I think something; no, even worse, FEEL something like that? How could I be relieved at the sight of my dead father? Even after all these years, I was still a bad son. I hadn’t changed one bit! I was still selfish, still thinking of my own life instead of how I could help solve the problem.

I hated my father! He was doing it again – manipulating me, even from the grave. He was making me feel guilty for trying to live my life. How could he rule my life even after he was dead? I resented the way he could still control me. Hadn’t he ruined my life enough?

I stopped myself, and realized he was gone. He wasn’t coming back, and I regretted that. I regretted all the times I had given up on him, cracked jokes about him, even denied him. I began to cry, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t stop myself. After all he had done to me, I missed him. I couldn’t hate him, no matter how much I wanted to or how hard I tried. Looking at him in the casket, I remember thinking that he wasn’t such a bad guy, and that I hadn’t had it all that bad.

For just a moment, I forgot about the scars. I didn’t remember all the unfulfilled promises and the silent nights around the dinner table. I remembered the mornings and the peaceful hours before supper, and the way he had been during those times. After all, he was my father, and I loved him.

Day Thirteen: Lost time – Part VIII

Did you miss Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, or Part VII?

“Dad?” I called out, softly. He just lay there. No movement, no smile, nothing.

“Dad, please talk to me.” Silence, just like when I was a kid. Nothing had changed, except for the fact that this time, I knew he wouldn’t even acknowledge that I was there. He couldn’t. Corpses can’t move.

I don’t know how long I stood in front of the casket. Long enough to remember, but not long enough to forget. I couldn’t believe how many memories could fit in such a small box.

I didn’t cry. It’s hard to cry when you’re feeling so many different emotions at one time. It’s weird, too, to have so many different feelings and how some of them can be so much stronger than the others. Some stayed for a long time, others came and left quickly, but I felt them all just the same.

As I looked at my father’s body, I felt relief. My problems were over. He was gone, and all my problems had gone with him. Even Mom seemed happy. She was no longer trapped. I didn’t have to feel embarrassed or uncomfortable when I visited. I no longer needed to worry about what he would do next. It felt so good, so peaceful, so…wrong.

Tomorrow: Lost time – Part IX

Day Twelve: Lost time – Part VII

Did you miss Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, or Part VI?

My adolescent years flew by, and, to be honest, I don’t remember much about them. I guess I don’t want to. I realized early in my teens that I would never be able to fix my family, so I ignored them instead. I did my best to never be seen in public with them, and if I was, I would laugh it off with a quick joke about “the old man.” But each joke left me more embarrassed and ashamed. After all, he was my father, and I loved him. But as the years passed, I had to try harder and harder to convince myself of that.

I began to resent him, to resent the way he controlled and manipulated me. It wasn’t fair that he could ruin our family and still somehow make me feel guilty for hating him! Why shouldn’t I hate him? After all he had taken from me – my childhood, security, home – why not hate him? I wanted to. I wanted to hate every part of who he was, but I couldn’t. After all, he was my father, and no matter how much it hurt, I loved him.

Tomorrow: Lost time – Part VIII

Day Eleven: Lost time – Part VI

Did you miss Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, or Part V?

I left the room and went to play in mine until I heard the water running in the sink. I went and joined Dad in the bathroom for his morning shave.

“Hey, kiddo! Sleep good?”

Sleep good?!? He had to be kidding! How could I have slept well when I was soaking wet because he made me take the trash out during the storm? How good a night’s sleep can someone possibly get when they woke up in pain every time they rolled on their back? Sleep good??

“Yeah. I slept pretty good.”

“Great. Watcha got planned for today?”

“Nothin’ much. Probably just playing around the house.”

“I see. Well, maybe tonight we can go out and get some ice cream. Would you like that?”

“Yeah! That’d be great!!”

I was excited before I could seven stop myself. I knew better than to believe that we would actually go out. The beers at supper would change our plans. But, he was my father and I loved him. He meant well, and I tried to convince myself that meaning well was what really mattered. Dad always meant well in the morning. He was different at those times, different than the man I knew at night. I wished it could be morning all day long.

I played in my room most days while Dad was at work. I never enjoyed being with Mom because she was so depressed. I can still see her lying on the couch, her forearm resting on her face, complaining about everything she could think of. I felt alone with or without her and so I usually tried to stay out of her way. I had no friends, and even if I had any, I wouldn’t have brought them to my house. Well, maybe in the morning, or for an hour before supper. No, that would never work. It was safer to just keep to myself instead.

Tomorrow: Lost time – Part VII

Day Ten: Lost time – Part V

Did you miss Part I, Part II, Part III, or Part IV?

Mmmm! I woke to the smell of breakfast cooking and stretched in the bed. It was a new day and last night seemed like a bad dream. Maybe it was. Maybe it was all just one bad dream! I jumped out of bed and ran to my parents’ room. Dad was still in the bed and I called to him as I jumped up.

“Good morning, Dad!” He didn’t move. No hug, no words, nothing. My smile faded as quickly as my hope that I had been dreaming. I knew better. Just like always, my father was passed out from all the beer the night before. He’d be this way for at least an hour; he always was.

As I watched him, I got angry. I wanted to pull out his belt and whip him, just like he’d whipped me the night before. My back still stung from the beating and I wanted to hurt him the way he’d hurt me! But, I couldn’t. I dropped my head in my hands and could feel my face burning from the shame. How could I even think something like that? He was my father, and I loved him. Anyway, he wouldn’t even remember what had happened. He never did. Why punish him for something that he wouldn’t even remember? Only a bad son would do that. My father deserved a better kid than me.

Tomorrow: Lost time – Part VI