1980104

Hi Dad.

I miss you. I love you. I’m ok. I’m finally facing up to the fact that I’m just as susceptible to depression as the rest of the family. I’ve been denying it could be possible. I hit a low that knocked me off my feet back in June of 2002, a few months after you died. I couldn’t get up that time. I had no family doctor. I went to walk-in clinics a couple of times before I broke down completely but they don’t want to treat depression there. See your family doctor or get counseling, they tell you. I did, get counseling but I ended up signing myself into a mental health ward because I was so depressed. Like never before. I couldn’t stop crying, feeling sad, feeling mad about all the injustices in life. Or what I felt were injustices. So many things were on my mind then. I was trying to sift through so much stuff in my head. You dying. Mom already passed away. My own age and mortality, the fact that I had no kids and that I still wasn’t married. I had never felt so mixed up, so confused, so not in control in all my life.

I’m sorry I never got the chance to talk to you about the girls and the sexual abuse. I didn’t want to believe it at first but all three of them claimed this to be true. I have to believe it of course. I’m really sorry you did that Dad. I’ll never understand it and probably won’t ever be able to forgive you or Mom for that matter.

I loved Mom. I still find it incredible that Mom knew something was going on and I didn’t. I hope the girls found it in their hearts to forgive you both. I feel they all hoped to someday. I’m sorry I didn’t know what was going on. I know in my heart I would have been able to salvage more for everybody had I known. To this day, I still feel that Viv and Lynne think I knew but didn’t care to intervene, to try and stop what must have been a horror to them.

I’m sorry I didn’t take a few swings at you at some point. I wish I had at least connected a few times, in an effort to knock you out of your drunken stupor. I would have been a lucky opportunist when swung at, but strangely enough, in your drunken stupor, you were easier to love and forgive then, so I never did.

You molested all three of my sisters and I didn’t get a chance to tell you what a complete asshole and jerk and pervert you were for doing that. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you about that. Maybe I would have found it easier to accept that it was a sickness you suffered from if you had admitted it to me, talked to me about it, told me you were sorry.

I really wish we could have hugged more. I’m really sorry all of us weren’t very loving and touching and just generally more demonstrative and verbal with each other. Now I think I can understand why. I wish I had known what was going on back then, the dark secrets that were being kept. I’m not saying I could have stopped you but I am saying that I would have tried, tried hard, and maybe just my knowing would have been enough for you to stop yourself. I feel stupid and naïve that I didn’t realize what was going on.

I feel guilty that I didn’t spend more time with you before you died. I was so lonely then. I felt so sorry for myself then. I had no social life. I was avoiding all of my close friends and most of the rest of them because I didn’t want to be tempted or influenced by “smokers”. I had to quit smoking. You died because of it.

I don’t want to die. Not now. Not soon. Not because I had a cigarette stuck in my face all the time because I was too weak to give them up. I don’t want to end up following in my fathers’ footsteps. I’m already constantly checking myself, comparing me to you as/when we’re the same age…

I remember the time you wanted to give me your rifles, and a few other things you had held on to over the years. One of those things was that cutter board that Pepere used to cut his cigarette tobacco with once it had dried and was ready to roll. I didn’t realize how hurt you were going to be when I told you I didn’t want those things.

What was I going to do with moose and bird guns in my lifetime, in southern Ontario in these times of swiftly changing rules, regulations and restrictions? Why did I want a reminder of something that had lain in your lap in the garage, for Mom to find you with, trying to muster the cowardly energy to pull the trigger and end what you thought you had to suffer through in life?

The way you were smoking and coughing all the time, it was pretty easy to read the writing on the wall. Three packs a day + catches up to you. I didn’t want a rusty metal blade and a cracked, dry cutter board as a memento of something that was used to cut what would eventually kill my father.

I really hated your guts for a lot of years while you were drinking. I remember listening to you cough and cough, almost knowing and wishing you would just die already and leave the rest of us alone to live our lives more peacefully. I feel awful about having had those thoughts back then. You were so hard to live with. You were either in a perpetual bad mood or drunk and either too happy, too sad, too mad or too something or other, as well as in a bad mood. And at that point I still didn’t know what was really going on at home. I probably would have hated you so much more.

I’ve been getting help in the form of professional counseling and guidance. I’ve changed my ways. I’ve tried to do it a little at a time so that it becomes a series of good habits instead of a list of chores. I’m not as much of a perfectionist anymore so I do more and get more done. I’m on medication. I’m a little worried about long-term physical effects of the medication but I’d rather live like this than the way it was. I don’t get as uptight about things anymore. I eat well, low fat, I try to bulk up on fruit and vegetables, and get lots of fiber. I have a couple of beers almost every day, and sometimes more, and don’t worry as much about following in your footsteps, and losing control.

I finally found a family doctor about a year ago now and I got a complete physical and passed with flying colors quite literally. Ironically, she asked me if longevity was a family trait.

I haven’t smoked for over two years now. I quit on November 02, 2002. I’ll always be a nicotine addict but I’ll never smoke tobacco again. I still worry about the possible future repercussions of having smoked for over 25 years. And after being exposed to second hand smoke at home while I was growing up. Thankfully in an absurd way, for half my lifetime, you were in a bar drinking, or at a girlfriend’s place drinking, or simply not at home and drinking, all the while smoking but at least not in my lung space.

I met a woman back in July 2002. She lives in Stratford. She had a 15-year-old son. We spent weekends together. Sometimes he joined us. He lives with his Dad in Australia now. She’s the best girlfriend I’ve ever had. I’m not sure I would feel that way if we lived together though, at least not yet. But I don’t feel threatened by our relationship. I need to start sharing life with somebody. Rosanne is good for me. I think I’m good for her.

I never told Mom I loved her until she was on her deathbed in a drug-induced stupor. I don’t think I ever told you out loud that I loved you Dad. I’m sorry.

I feel like I lost so much in life because I wasn’t quite ready for it. It seems that the times I could have used your advise and support the most were also the times when drinking was a higher priority for you. I had to fight a lot harder than others to attain what I have in life today, as humble as it is. A small difference back then would have made such a big difference today. I blame you for that. I think you could have been more “there” for me. My biggest hurdle in life was lack of self-confidence.

I’m sorry about the fact that I never got to talk to you about why you drank so much. Did you feel trapped? I used to get the impression you felt you should have taken a different path in life. I think I may have felt responsible somehow for your situation and for the fact that you seemed unhappy being married with four children. Like I was a burden, and was sorry you had to carry me. That would somewhat explain why I feel the need to be so independent today.

I’m just realizing now that for some reason, I’ve always had guilty feelings about being one of the four children, a part of your burden. Like I was a part of your problem. Well, fuck you. I’ve finished feeling guilty. I love you Dad but I’m going to start making sure I never feel guilty or sorry in any way for being here.

I’m going to concentrate on being the best of the good that I got from you and quit worrying about being the worst of you. I’m going to stop feeling guilty and panicky about having a few cold ones. I’m going to enjoy the sight of a pretty young girl walking by without feeling like a pervert. I have been and will continue telling people how I feel about them, good or bad, honestly, gently and with sincerity.

I took my part of the money you left us and put some on my mortgage. I paid some off some smaller bills. I bought some furniture and a new washer/dryer. I replaced all the flooring in my condo. I bought myself some clothes. I have a little left over for a rainy day, or maybe a holiday. I kind of like having a little in the bank to fall back on though. Not that I’m worried about my job or anything but you never know. It’s not much but it’s nice to not have to always be worrying about whether or not the next payment or check or whatever will clear.

During your last 10 years with us, we didn’t spend that much time together but it was good to have had at least that much with you. I know you tried hard to make things right between us all. To some extent, you did. I’m sure it was much more difficult with the girls.