Dear Dad…

I’m so sad tonight. I wish I could pick up the phone and call you up and tell you how I’m feeling and let all my frustrations out. You would probably listen awkwardly because I’m a woman and I’d be crying, and then you would tell me a story that hardly seems related, but somehow makes me feel better anyway. I would put down the phone feeling all cried out in the way you normally can only be when you’re by yourself, but in a good way, instead of this lonely aching feeling that I’m left with right now.

You never met R, so I don’t know how you would deal with his visual impairment or his and our frustration at his speech delays. For all I know, when it comes to his medical history, you would be just as unhelpful as my remaining parent, not knowing what to say or do to help, or how to be supportive in the way we need. But I do know for certain one thing, when it comes to his everyday life, you would be here.

You would take me to appointments when I needed the company, you would be phoning off the hook every day to see how we both are, you would hug me when the terrible two’s were driving me mad, or there wasn’t anything helpful left to say. I can’t imagine a day going by where you wouldn’t want to see us both, to hold your grandson, to sit with your daughter, and just while away the time with us both.

You would probably tell me that it’s her depression and the years of being alone, but you’ll have to excuse me for insisting that it is still not normal for a parent to not want to see their grandchildren. After almost three weeks of no contact, it is not normal for a parent to have to be bullied into spending some time with their daughter and grandchild. And yet that’s what happened today. And I don’t know why I bothered. After an hour and a half of sitting on my couch watching him while I played with him, a large portion of that spent with her eyes closed, she left. My mother hadn’t hugged him, kissed him, read to him, or even touched him. She hadn’t even moved from her spot on the couch to go down to his level and join a game.

It’s true- I might imagine you being here through the tragically rose coloured glasses of knowing you never will be again. But it’s not the fact that you’re gone that tells me you would hardly let R go if you had the chance, it’s just fact. Because somehow, with one parent who told me she had to ‘learn’ to hug me when I needed it, I still grew up affectionate and loving to my friends and family. Even though I’ve been told that I’m loved the least out of her children, I’ve somehow got a sense of self-worth and belief. And I didn’t give myself those things, you did.

So I know, with the certainty of really knowing a person, the way I’m coming to believe I never will know my own mother, that you would be cuddling and playing and singing with my little boy every chance you could get your hands on. You would call, probably too much, to find out how we are and to tell us you care. It wouldn’t be a chore, or something you needed to be reminded to do or argued into.

I don’t worry about R, the way I sometimes worry about myself. He has two parents that know how to make him feel loved and special. Thank God, he doesn’t need you in his life to make him feel supported and worth something.

Sadly however, I sometimes think that I still do.

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3 Comments

  1. Yaeli

     /  December 17, 2012

    Aaaw crap. Sorry it’s rough. Wish I knew what to say. Just gonna send you a hug across the miles and tell you that I think you need a avction where someone can spoil you rotten and hug and kiss that delish boychik of yours 😉 PS I’m on vacation from school with my boys Jan 19th for a week… hint hint.

    Reply
  2. Yaeli

     /  December 17, 2012

    that should say vacation not avction 🙂

    Reply
  3. Your friend, Yaeli, who posted 1st says it perfectly…awe crap! I wish I had the words to comfort you, but I don’t either. I do however feel your pain in the sense that I wish I could help, but know I can’t. My son-in-law has a mother very much like yours. She hasn’t seen our grandsons for about six months now and the last time she saw them, she never spoke to either. As their “other” grandma, I can’t understand it. Your son isn’t old enough to know what’s going on, but my grandsons are 10 and 6 and the last time they saw her, the 6 year old asked his mom (my daughter) what was the matter with Grandma and why wouldn’t she talk to him. I don’t understand depression, I’ve never had to deal with it in myself, but it must be one of the loneliest places on earth if a grandmother can do that to a grandson that loves them.

    Reply

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