Tuesday, February 14, 2023


It's been twenty-three years since my dad died.  I used to think that he died on Valentine's day so that mum would never date again but now I think, maybe he died on Valentine's day because he loved her so much.  I hope so.

My dad was a very difficult man.  He was angry and built a wall around himself that only mum was allowed to pass through.  I think/know he had undiagnosed depression.  He grew up in extreme poverty with an alcoholic mother and went off to war when he was nineteen years old.  I learned many years later, from my auntie, that his best friend was killed beside him during the war.  He also told me once that he thought he would go to hell for things he had done during the war.  I told him god doesn't work like that.  His brother suffered from schizophrenia and ended up on the streets of Vancouver where he died in the seventies, beaten to death.  His was a tough family that came from the mines and poverty and addiction.

I was born when my sisters were almost sixteen.  There were five dead babies between me and my sisters.  A counselor once told me that I must have been so precious to my parents because of that.  Maybe I was, but that's not how it felt.  Looking back at old photos though I see my dad holding me and I hope I was precious to him.  I hope he let me pass through the wall when I was little.  I hope I gave him some comfort.

I didn't grow up poor but I didn't grow up well off either, working class I guess you would say.  My dad always worked at least two jobs while I was growing up, sometimes three jobs.  We never went without and always had a roof over our heads.  That was his way of showing us love; I just didn't realize that when I was young.  The hardest part about growing up with him as a father was his rage and his anger.  He never once hit me but he would shake with anger and that scared me enough.  He also sped off in his car when that happened.  I think now that he left because he was afraid of what he might do.  He was afraid of his own anger, just as I am afraid of mine.

When he left mum would always start crying and wringing her hands.  Dad never left for long and he always came home.  As I grew older I realized that dad could never leave us because he couldn't actually take care of himself.  My mum was his anchor and his support.  She saved him and he knew that.  There was also real love between them, although it was hard to see, especially as a child.

I wish I had the chance to talk to him again, with love, with understanding, with compassion.  I understand too much, too late.  But isn't that how life so often is?  We live it forward but only understand it backwards and maybe that's why grandparents are so important to children.

23 comments:

  1. I can imagine there are so many adults in your shoes - dads from WW2 with undiagnosed PTSD/depression and dealing with the after effects, all the while trying to be a parent, but struggling. I like how you write it out, that you can see it now for what it was - and I hope that brings you peace.

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    1. It does bring me a lot of peace. My father and I had a very difficult relationship.

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  2. This is a beautiful piece of writing and I can feel your heart in it. Also love and regret. I am certain that if your dad could read it, he would probably be brought to tears with your understanding.

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    1. Too soon old and too late smart. Apparently people have been saying this for a long time. Nothing new here folks.

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  3. You expressed this well. My father was born on Valentine's Day. We are both connected to it by our fathers. He looks loving in the photo, maybe the camera caught what our eyes cannot.

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    1. After my father died, my mum told me that I was my dad's favourite, which came as a shock to me.

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  4. He is a handsome man and you've described his complexities and demons perfectly. I agree that this is a beautiful and poignant post. Even though he's no longer here, you're still working through your feelings about your father and coming to terms with your relationship with him. I often remember this quote when I'm thinking of my own losses:
    “Death ends a life, but it does not end a relationship, which struggles on in the survivor’s mind toward some final resolution, some clear meaning, which it perhaps never finds.”

    ― Robert Woodruff Anderson, I Never Sang for My Father

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  5. Mixed feelings and bittersweet memories, I understand them well. My father was a rageaholic WW2 vet with PTSD too. As jj pointed out above, so many in our generation can probably relate to growing up in those circumstances.

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    1. War destroys families, even when people don't die. My neighbor has PTSD from Afghanistan that causes problems in his family. The difference is, he sees a counselor.

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  6. It's a difficult relationship, father and daughter. We are supposed to be close, to fulfill expectations both ways, to provide each other with affection, respect and care and yet, there' all that power and authority to wade through. I remember getting so mad at my father for letting me wait ages when he was supposed to pick me up somewhere and never even bothering to explain what kept him while I was in the dog house when I was ten minutes late.
    I found your post very moving.

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    1. I wasn't allowed to get mad at my dad. I finally did when I was in my twenties and he hadn't taken my mum to the hospital (her fault, not his). He yelled at me and I yelled right back at him. He wasn't used to that.

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  7. Of life... "We live it forward but only understand it backwards" and that is so true. I like the image of you with your father but I don't like that scary Swiss cheese plant to the left. It seems to have designs upon the little babe. Never mind because Daddy will fight it off.

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    1. My mum loved plants and looking at this photo, I realized that she'd been growing plants her whole life.

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  8. So many ex-soldiers have a hard time functioning "normally" in a family after they return. Men of that generation didn't reach out for help, or even talked about their experiences. My father was a terrifying presence in my life because of his rage and alcohol abuse. He couldn't be trust or counted upon. I love him, and I forgive him, but I don't really think I'd want to talk to him again.

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    1. My dad was always angry but he was trustworthy. Trauma fucks people up.

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  9. I think it's only as we get older that we realize just how tough so many of that generation had it! I guess they'd shake their heads at us lot and how "hard" we have it! Your dad was a handsome man and you look a lot like him!

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    1. During the pandemic beginning of the pandemic who told me that the pandemic was her fault. She had been talking with her daughter about how hard things had been for her parents, the generation that lived through the depression and WW11, and then told her daughter how easy things had been for her generation of boomers. And then the pandemic hit and her daughter blamed it on her.

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  10. 37paddington:
    I am so moved by this post. Your parents endured real trauma before you arrived, five dead babies. I wonder how it changed them. I think when your dad drove away in a rage, your mom was terrified of him driving angry, of what could happen. I am glad he always came home.

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    1. Dad always told mum that he was going to live with his family on Vancouver Island, except he didn't really like his family. I don't think she was worried about him driving angry. He had nowhere to go but she didn't see that.

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  11. "I wish I had the chance to talk to him again, with love, with understanding, with compassion. I understand too much, too late. But isn't that how life so often is? We live it forward but only understand it backwards and maybe that's why grandparents are so important to children."

    I love the way your father is holding your hand.

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  12. A tender picture. I, too, hope that you were precious to him. I wish all our loved ones healing but only have control of me. I can't help but ache for the man I see in the picture and hope that the afterlife is far gentler than this one.

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  13. He sounds like he survived really traumatic events in his youth, like many men of his generation. My mom used to take off in her car when she got mad at us, too. I think she mostly drove around and smoked a cigarette and then came home.

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