They say anniversaries – birthdays, holidays, etc – are difficult times when you’re grieving. Today’s my father’s birthday – or would have been, if he were still alive. For some reason it’s affected me more than I expected. I can’t even put my finger on why that is, though I’m trying to accept that perhaps it just is.
And yesterday was father’s day here, and I was reminded of all the good father’s out there, though I’m not even sure what a good one looks like. I was particularly stung by a message from our nation’s leader on that social networking site wishing “all” father’s a Happy Father’s Day. All fathers? Really? Even the crappy ones? Even the ones who do unspeakable things? She’s kidding, right? They don’t deserve a happy anything, in my book, let alone a day that recognises them.
Perhaps I’m feeling stung it’s because I didn’t have to ring him and wish him happy birthday, or feign interest in father’s day, which is something I did every year, though I’ve no idea why (except to keep the peace). Perhaps it’s because I didn’t have to buy him a gift only to have him tell me it was cr*p. Perhaps it’s because I realise how dysfunctional his behaviour was, and know now that I deserved better. I don’t know.
My mother also had her major surgery a few days ago. She’s doing ok, although it’s difficult seeing her so frail, doped up, in pain, attached to a bunch of machines. Much more difficult than I imagined. She was a little emotional today about my father’s birthday – go figure? – though I’m sure it was the drugs talking.
Perhaps I’m also stung because my father isn’t here to not give a sh*t about my mother’s health. He wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have cared less. Perhaps his physical absence is a reminder of all the times he was emotionally absent as well. I don’t know.
Last week the Wonder Therapist talked about me needing someone who will scoop me up at the end of a rough day. I needed scooping up today, it was a rough day. And yet, again, I was reminded there isn’t anyone.