I’m tabling this one for awhile.
The best way I can make sense of this for myself is a timeline.
In May, I got married, and it was the most perfect day!
One day later: my grandpa (my mom’s father) has a stroke and is in the hospital. No idea what the prognosis is.
5 days after that (my mom’s death anniversary): my dad announces he has bought a house with his girlfriend and will be getting married sometime in the fall. No acknowledgment, no apology, nothing but a blank stare at my tears and questions about it. Last year he completely forgot about her death anniversary. What we resolved was that this year he simply had to call me and tell me he knew what it meant.
1 day after that: we are supposed to leave on our honeymoon, but I can’t focus, because I’m so miffed by my dad’s news and am preparing my final good-byes to Grandpa in case he doesn’t make it while we’re gone. Oh, and it’s Dad’s birthday, and I have to play nice-y. ugh.
1 day after that: we finally leave for our four-week honeymoon! Hurrah that we can (sort of) leave troubles behind.
Three weeks in: J loses his wedding ring while we’re walking with all our luggage to our last hotel from the bus station. So sad!
Ironically, hours before, I decide to switch my focus from sheer anger at my dad, and write a letter asking my soon-to-be stepmother (who I’ve never been able to get along with) and make a bit of a peace offering. (In the days following I decide that I’m coping with too much, and best to leave the letter alone and not send it until I’m really ready.)
Three days after that: the decision is made to take Grandpa to Hospice after several failed attempts at independent swallowing and with distinct wishes against a permanent feeding tube.
Two days after that: our honeymoon winds to a close, and we are back home.
Next day: Dad and I talk on the phone, while I’m in the Hospice parking lot, and his attempt of an apology is, “I hope my announcement didn’t upset your honeymoon.” That only reminded me how sad I was on my wonderful honeymoon and how much my brand-new hubby and I fought about that sadness. I start yelling, he gets defensive, then tells me he loves me, to which I say that our definitions of love must be different, and I’m not going to say, “I love you,” because it doesn’t have meaning anymore.
The next morning: Grandpa passes away, with J and I being the only ones present. The experience was both horrific and peaceful, and gave me a lot more appreciation for what my dad had done for my mom when she passed. So I’m the one to call my dad and tell him about Grandpa and apologize for not telling him I loved him the night before. Cries are exchanged. Bonding instilled. Dad says, “We’ll get through this somehow.” Oh, and did I mention it was J’s birthday?
Six days later, after no contact at all, my dad calls me to announce that he was married that afternoon (in July!), and he hopes I’m ok with that. I asked him not to confuse hopes with reality, and I didn’t talk to him for a month.
I will sum up by saying that this past weekend was our annual family reunion. It would have been impossible not to have any contact with him. And in our first contact, I reverted to hostile mode, yelling and screaming at him about being a liar. In an attempt to be civil, I went to him a couple days later, which resulted in me seeing both him and his wife with less-than-desirable results – the woman has no boundaries. She hugged me profusely when I distinctly asked for no hugs. My dad stood idly by, never once tapping her on the shoulder, and defending what I asked for. I realized I had tried reconciling too soon, but kept the goal of civility at the top of my priorities, and survived the rest of that experience without yelling or storming off.
In the days following those encounters, I’ve been rethinking what I had wanted to convey and never got the chance to. Wanting to fight my own fights, and articulate what I need to, I called him this morning to tell him how I was still struggling, how I was still disappointed and hurt, and how I was still mad. I added that I thought getting married without his own kids there might be one of the biggest mistakes of his life. To which he said that he thought differently: it’s been one of the best decisions of his life and he wouldn’t have done anything differently.
Ouch. So I’m done. There is no “better” to be had until his sickening pride doesn’t wound me anymore, and I don’t know how long that will take.
