Letting Go... to Hold on Better

Spartacus – a friend of mine from many years back – sent me something saddening in a recent email of his; this was in the midst of one of our many sessions of dismantling the world and rebuilding it:

Sent: Friday, February 09, 2007 1:47 PM
Over the past 5 or so years I have seen my father devolve from an intelligent, fair-minded person into the most rabid type of reactionary and it is profoundly sad for me to have witnessed this change in him (and my mom follows lockstep with his viewpoint). In an attempt to salvage our relationship, any meaningful philosophical discussion is now taboo. It pains me to have such a crippled relationship with my dad (not that we ever had a GREAT relationship anyway, except maybe when I was a little kid), but I guess I'd rather have that over nothing at all.

I couldn't look over this aside of Chuck's, then overlook it and address other things we were discussing. So I answered him:

-----Original Message-----
Sent: Friday, February 09, 2007 7:53 PM
First off, condolences re your father, my friend. Having spent over three years with the alternative, I think I'd prefer half a father to none at all.

This next is likely no consolation to you – but over his last five to ten years, he and I had been drawing closer… decades after the fact that he'd beaten us as children, emotionally abused our mother (often using us five as pawns or emotional human-shields so she couldn't fire back), coldly turned his back on us many times… decades after that, I came to him first with some particularly heavy, private issues, and he responded in a warm and helpful way long overdue; and so over the last few years I found myself having grown fond of the old duck, since I'd let go of years of utter crap I'd flung at him, and he at us. I think we all had by then.

When four of us (me and one of my brothers and our two sisters) went to see Dad laid out on under a sheet on a cold table, in that funeral home, I collapsed on a chair and wept; my brother and sister clutched each other, and our other sister stood nearby, running her hand over their shuddering backs – all of us weeping heavy tears at the sudden, unexpected (even while not surprising) loss of our father. Later my younger sister gently ran an affectionate hand over his white hair, smoothing it down, as we left the room. Even today, further removed from that day and that room, the memory of the scene and the wrenching tear in our hearts still brings out a great ache that time has not dulled.

The point to my own, counterpoint soap-opera is that as they get older, and their clocks (and, yes, minds and hearts) run down, we have to give our parents more and more leeway, and broaden out what we choose to tolerate; soon enough we'll be bringing them flowers once or twice a month (if that), and brushing birdcrap off their stone. We're grown up, and they're almost out of lifespan – there's no longer any time or need to make points, to one-up.

Sometimes my mother says that I'm too kind to her; I point out to her that I'm running out of parents, so I'd better get it right this time. She appreciates the thought… and I'm counting on that to carry me through the next viewing and interment of a parent. And worry to death that, once she's gone – our matriarch, this hub to us five spokes – there'll be nothing holding us together as a family any more.

My ex-wife and her two brothers, with the death and burial of their mom almost two years ago, and the sale of their childhood home, to all intents and purposes never talk anymore… and they live within maybe a dozen miles of each other. (Their dad died just a few days after mine.) This angers, saddens, and hurts our grown daughter.

My friend: this is no reprimand, but rather a long, drawn-out cliché to underscore my suggestion that you put up with your dad's failing days. You've got the good memories put away somewhere safe, and they'll be there when you need to hug them desperately.

Right now's the time to every-so-often go out of the way and do something special for your mom and dad – keep up with the visits, a random hello-card (just because), maybe even Valentine's Day flowers from your kid (you and the wife foot the bill, of course), a call out of the blue (and a deft change of subject when called for).

You're not doing this for appreciation; got that? As your dad gets older and his mind slips further, he may at times become outright hostile… but you know this is not the real Dad. You've seen many more years of the real him; ditto your mom – and she's lockstep with him because he needs someone at his side, keeping him warm, 24/7; and she needs to know in her heart that she's still essential in his waning life. You must grant them this. Why should she favor you?

You're doing it to brighten up their last remaining years. If dad (and mom) are going to sling and arrow some unfortunate outrages at you, you must have the skin of a turtle, and the waterproofing of a duck. Let it roll off; let it go. Knowing you were good to him will later, when he's at rest, bring you immense peace and closure with the bad days; ditto, again, your mother. Secondly, it provides a great role model of adulthood to your own li'l one, who'll be grown up herself someyear. From what I've heard, and seen, you've been doing a stupendous job with her, and she would continue to benefit as you continue being kindly, patient (but real) adults.

Sure, it will hurt. And I'll bet you said a lot of mean things to your dad when you knew better; now he's reaching a point where he may not know better. It's okay if it hurts, brother; we've all got hearts. And you've got your sweet wife to buoy you through. 

I was well on the way to thirty before a big-hearted girlfriend unintentionally taught me one of the most essential things there is to learn as a human: you don't have to like someone to love them. Her son screamed at her during a fight, "I hate you!" And she immediately shot back with, "Well, I love you! I just don't like you very much right now!" and sent him up to his room.

Keep your heart open to your parents, especially your dad. It's possible you still need to finish reconciling that the time is now past, for good, for you to carry a need to make intellectual points with him. What is there to prove… what is the point anymore? Love is all you need. Make him smile. What other point should there be?

And an ulterior spiritual motive: if the afterlife is even close to what I believe as a Catholic, and as many Protestants, even, and Jews, have held… our loved ones who precede us will pray for us, aid us spiritually as we live out the remainder of our lives… and they're right there with Gawd / the Divine – you think their own prayers on our behalf would take as long a route to Him as they seem, sometimes, to do down here? Zing! Straight to Him!

Right now you can give your dad a reason to want to lift his spiritual hands for you later. Further spiritual bonus: if, as most faith-traditions teach (not just Judeo-Christo-Islam: ancient Egyptians, Hindus, etc.), we will be judged at the end, we will have to make a case for what we did and didn't do. Don't know about you, Bubba, but I need as many brownie points as I can get with the Man. If my mother could look our Maker in the eye and say, "Yes, he really p!ssed me off some days… but he was patient and loving when we shared a home one more time, those last few years – he's a good boy, Lord" – if she could do that for me, then I have a bit of a chance.

Or just call it karma – do/be good, get good. Or call it higher-order ethics. Patience, grasshopper. The dad you grew up loving and admiring (before your stupid years kicked in, as with all of us), is safe there in your heart; no decline of years and narrowing of aging mind will take away from your heart the feel of his grown-up hand holding your little-boy one, back when. Clutch that, and let go of the rest.

Regards,

AgingChild

Likely my response might come across to other folks as too pat, too sweetly cliché-ridden, to be of great consolation while a loved one is slowly being devoured before our unhelpful eye. Yet Spartacus did email back a gentle thank-you for what I'd had to say. And you know, it was easy to write; the words came readily -- all it takes to console someone from the heart is to simply first bury an essential piece of yourself in the cold ground beside someone you grew up with.