You Get What You Pay For: Father's Day

On Father's Day this year, we had Scott and Sierra come over for breakfast and then Eric's mom and Jim come over for lunch. We had a nice time with both groups, Logan especially. He becomes a barnacle that you have to scrape off of both Scott and Jim whenever they come over to visit.

Caitlin leaves a note for Eric on the chalkboard:
"Have a studendous [sic] non-horrendous Super duper FATHERS DAY! :) Love, Caitlin, Emma, Logan and Mommy"

There were plenty of noms and laughter and yet while in the midst of all this, it struck me that we all were missing our fathers, save for Caitlin, Emma and Logan.

Mine has become the polite stranger that I talk to on the phone every couple of weeks. He has no idea who I am and is now forgetting my mother. He refers to her as "the woman" or "her", when he goes to hand the phone back to her after talking to me for my allotted 30 seconds ("I'll give you back to...to...The Woman now."). Alzheimer's sucks. Far more than I can probably ever explain. The worst part, to me, seems to the be thought that my dad worked so hard all the time we were growing up and was putting off hanging out with us and doing fun things.* He was putting it all off for "some day". Some day when he wasn't as busy, some day when he didn't have to bring home the bacon, some day when he would be retired. Then he could finally relax and enjoy us and the future grandchildren.

Except...

Except that Alzheimer's got there first.

Personally, I think he had it a lot longer than anyone realized. I was certain something was really wrong with him when he didn't want to come to my wedding.

That's right. He missed my wedding. On purpose.**

It took years before my mom and my sisters were also willing to admit something was actually wrong with him before they started taking him in for testing. Also, since Alz is a "rule out" sort of disease, they had to first cross off all of the things it wasn't, before coming to the not-so-stunning decision that it was Alzheimer's. I was clinging to the hope that something was wrong with him, rather than accept that he was just an asshole who would be willing to miss his daughter's wedding.

You know who's paying now? His grandchildren. Not a single one of them will ever know him as their grandfather. Not a single one will ever know how he used to be, back when he was fun. The possibility of piggyback rides is completely out. He doesn't remember any of them. They're like images drawn with water: you can see them for a moment, but then as soon as the paper dries, they're gone. Dad doesn't remember me or my siblings. He has forgotten mom and she's right there with him every single day. Although he did suddenly remember her name yesterday when I was on the phone with him, which was very nice.

I'm in mourning for my father and he's not even dead yet.

This is going to be a ridiculously drawn out mourning period, too.

Although I know my mom wants me to just accept it, I can't. I'm not ready to let him go.

Clearly, though, there's a life lesson here: you get what you pay for in parenting. Eric is here, every single day. He has a relationship with his 3 children and while it's not all smiles and laughter (Caitlin! Go! To! Bed!), it's more often smiles and laughter than not. He changes diapers, cooks dinner, washes dishes. He sings songs, reads books, chases babies, flips Caitlin upside down and pokes her when she's grumpy. He's putting in his time, exhausting as it is.

He both is and isn't a product of his own upbringing. His father wasn't there to show him what it's like to be a dad. He's making it all up on his own. He saw what he didn't want and is making a conscious effort to be different. To be better. To be there. Right where his kids need him.

Every single day he has the opportunity to be a good dad, a good role model, a good parent. He makes mistakes, we all do, but he keeps trying and succeeds more often than he fails. He's putting in his time. He's actively parenting and is available to our children. He's not waiting for that nebulous "some day", when he'll have more time or be less tired.

Caitlin is now old enough to remember these years well into her adulthood.*** I hope she (and later, the twins) carries the good memories with her always and chooses a partner/spouse/mate/life long love that meets her expectations of what a good husband and father should be. I know that I learned what to look for in my partner from watching my parents. I learned a lot of what not to do, just as I learned what to do. My childhood memories of my dad give me an idea of how well Eric rates as a dad, both from what he does and what he doesn't do.

And you know what?

So far, so good.

Happy Father's Day, honey. Happy Father's Day, dad. I love you both.

* Don't get me wrong, we did have fun with my dad. He used to give us horsie-back rides, cut giant slabs of watermelon for us that we'd eat in the messiest ways possible and spit the seeds out all over the backyard. He'd take us camping in the middle of Nowhere in Canada and we'd have long walks in the woods together. He'd break out the ice cream during blackouts during long NYC summers and we'd eat it while watching fireflies in the yard. As my sister reminded me, he'd pick out all of the bones from the fish he'd serve us for dinner, to keep us safe. He'd take us fishing, at least until we were teens, and even though I spent a lot of the time hurling over the side, he kept taking me back until I finally got my sea legs. Most of my best memories are from before I was a teen. The teen years are rough, for parents and children. My early 20s were rough, but that's just how it went.

** Here's the thing: after therapy related to family and work issues and a bunch of time, I forgave my father for this. I'm actually no longer mad. It's over. I regret it, but it happened. I was finally able to go to my father, sit on the floor in front of him and ask him if he'd be in my life because I loved him dearly and I wanted to be in his life and that I truly wanted him in mine. That was one of the single hardest conversations I'd ever had with him. We both cried and then we forgave each other and we moved on. It was just a few short years after this conversation that he was diagnosed. The best thing I ever did in my relationship with him was to get some level of closure from that single conversation. That even though I was angry for so long, that I finally stopped being angry, talked to him about it and we moved on. Together. The truth of the matter is that we hurt each other, but that's how family is: you hurt the ones you love. But if things work out, you still love them at the end of the day and maybe you eventually even forgive them.

*** I'm not going to sugar coat my relationship with my children, siblings, spouse or my parents. Growing up is hard. Parenting sucks. Then other times you wouldn't miss out on it for the world. All of life has its ups and downs and we do all make mistakes, but I'm not willing to pretend the bad stuff doesn't happen or that I don't do bad things. I've hurt Caitlin and I've hurt my parents. What I'm trying to do is learn from my mistakes, and hopefully, let others learn from them as well. Will Caitlin write about me one day? Very likely. Will it be hurtful? Probably. And that's her story. I will read it and I will respect that it's her truth and if I'm lucky, I'll learn something.