My father is quite possibly dying. He contracted Covid and is in a hospital in Vancouver. He is very confused and agitated, and is often in a state of delirium. The CT scan shows that he has significant dementia and the Chest X-rays indicates he has pneumonia.
I haven’t talked to my father in three years.
I haven’t talked to almost all of my family members in three years. My family chose to support my ex-husband through our divorce. They got duped by my ex’s brilliant performance of victimhood which he plays with much relish and gusto and they rallied around him and supported him. They go on camping trips together, are on family gossip chats together (often about me), and my parents even paid for his divorce lawyer. I got replaced by my ex-husband and everyone seems to be ok with that. It is an awful feeling to know that you are replaceable in your family.
I initially found out that my father isn’t doing well from the one sibling who talks to me. She forwarded me the email that my mother wrote to my siblings and to my ex-husband.
This sent me into a torrent of emotions. Anger, hurt, sadness, and fear. Anger and hurt that I wasn’t told initially – that the thought didn’t even cross my mother’s mind to tell me. Sadness that my father might very well be dying. Sadness that I might never have closure. And fear that if there is a funeral, I’m not sure whether I or my ex-husband will be asked to attend. Fear around the possibility of seeing my volatile sister who is a powder keg of anger and who drove the train in kicking me out of the family and wondering whether I have the strength to withstand her.
These emotions used to scare me and I would numb them as best as I could, self-medicating with a bottle of wine. Red wine was my preference as it seemed a classier way to self-medicate. However, I am having lots of practice these days sitting with the emotions instead. I let them rage over me. I feel them. I allow them. The anger, the fear, the sadness. All of the emotions in all their intensity. They no longer feel itchy and uncomfortable and I no longer feel a need to numb them. I allowed them to be. My emotions and I have finally made peace.
I bundle up my little ten month old into her snow suit and add an extra winter hat. I pop socks on her hands and put mittens over top to make sure she keeps warm. She complains over the ordeal but once she is in her back carrier, she is happy. We set out for a hike in the snowy forest with Joyce Meyer preaching a good sermon to me about forgiveness and reminding me that I am stronger than I think I am. She’s good value, having endured sexual abuse from her father as a young child. She knows what she’s talking about and I listen to her often throughout my week.
A long time ago, I made a promise to myself that I would not become a bitter old woman. I didn’t realize to what extent that bitterness is a way easier choice. All I have to do to become bitter is to focus on my hurt and the injustices of my life. It is way easier.
I made other promises because of this promise. I promised myself that I would go through my divorce as best as I could with where I was at. Although I was like a caged, fearful, beaten up animal, I would do my best. I sobered up and learned to feel my emotions. I took responsibility for me. I learned to be a “Grey Rock” instead of in reacting to everything my ex threw at me. I learned to detach and unhook.
I made that same promise with the news about my father. I will not act out of my anger or hurt. I will feel the emotions but I will not respond from them. I will respond out of grace.
I sent my mother an email letting her know that we were praying for her and empathizing that this is a scary time for her. I added, “Dad’s had quite the hard go in his life…. I’m starting to wonder how many lives that man has! Hopefully he is graced with a few more. He’s come out of quite a few rough spots and I pray this is another one he will come through.”
I sent my father a card and had the five kids write a personal message to him in it. I had each of the kids write a note in part to let him know that my kids cared about their grandpa and in part because I didn’t know what to write to my estranged father. I peppered the card with bible texts and when there was no space left to write anything more, I popped it in the post.
My partner suggested I send flowers to my mother. My ego warred against the idea – and very vocally. My ego demanded to know why I should send flowers to the woman who chose to disown her own. My ego wanted to know why I should spend money on the woman who sends birthday cards to my kids via my ex-husband’s house and who made clear that I would be marginalized in their will. My ego demanded to know why I should send flowers to a mother who stated that she didn’t believe her daughter and who supported her ex-son-in-law to the bitter end.
And there is no reason why I ought to.
But that is also the wrong question. The question is how can I show grace. How can I show grace as I have been shown so much grace in my life. I submitted my will, my ego, and offered simple grace instead.
Not a single one of these things was easy to do. Each one put me in turmoil while in the process but peace upon completion. Each time I reminded myself that I am only responsible for my actions. I am not responsible for my parents’ actions or their interpretations of my actions.
And I am graced with a cheering squad who pushes me to be the best version of me. I am graced with people who are willing to love me enough to push me to live strong, vulnerable, and full of love. I am graced with people who will say hard things to me and tell me that if I want unconditional love, I also have to offer it.
There is one dear woman who sat in the hard places with me in this journey and wrote, “Are you strong enough, grounded in God’s unconditional love, to love them unconditionally? Not just despite all their dysfunction, but with it? To forgive them even when they have no idea of the hurt and wrong they have and are perpetuating? To let it go?”
Those are hard questions and my ego resists them. But they are good questions and push me to be a better version of me. I am learning that you can only let go of ego when ego is strong enough to to let go of. You can only let go of self when you have a strong sense of self and know who you belong to. I am learning that strength is in the vulnerability, not rigidity. Strength is in softness, not hardness.
I don’t know what will happen with my father. I don’t know whether he will recover from this. I don’t know how many days or years he has in front of him. I hope he will recover. I hope that we will be able to reconcile in this life. I hope that this is a wake-up call to my family and we are able to begin again. But I have no control over what will happen. I have to leave it to God because I believe in a God who can use everything for our good. Even the painful stuff.
Especially the painful stuff.
Darlene
no longer small 