New Year. New Dad - Chapter 7

Despite the unrestrained joy and happiness of meeting my dad, that Christmas was tremendously hard for me. I had come to the unmistakable conclusion that my marriage was over.  If I had any doubts as to the state of my relationship with my husband, the events around me meeting my dad were extra confirmation that we were simply not on the same page. Or even reading the same book. I knew this would be the last Christmas that my kids and I would ever all be together again. I was deeply hurting and very alone that Christmas Eve, no one even mentioning the reunion with my dad. 

The one bright spot was when I got a text from my him at 3:19 pm on December 25th. It was a simple message:

“Merry Christmas Annette! I hope you and your family enjoy a wonder [sic] day!” 

I didn’t hear from my dad over the month of January although I wondered everyday when or if he would call. As expected I was knee deep in a marital separation and its ugly fall-out. My husband was making things difficult. My daughter, in particular, was the most angry. I was no longer allowed to see my grandchildren - a decision that inflicted the most searing pain I have ever felt. In contrast to the intense happiness I had felt just a month earlier, I was in the midst of devastating despair.

February came in as it usually does in Saskatchewan - bone numbing cold and an endless supply of snow.  On the 15th, a Friday, I was at my desk at work when a vase of a dozen red roses arrived. Assuming they were for one of the other women I worked with (they always were) I looked at the card and saw, they did, in fact, have my name on them. My first bouquet of flowers from my dad. And my first birthday greeting as well. With every person who asked where I got the flowers from, I would beam and reply:  

“From my dad”.  

It was surreal that I was saying this thing. From my DAD!  It was craziness to me. Not since I had tried to call Grandad “Dad” had I uttered that word. D.A.D. Dad. It suddenly was the reality in which I was living.  

My dad had texted me on February 21st and said it had been too long since he had talked to me. He wanted to see me that month but was heading off to Phoenix for two weeks. I was heading to Vancouver Island for a week after that and we agreed he would call after I returned in March. So, on March 21st he called me at home and explained that he had not meant to leave it so long before contacting me but in the midst of this “new” thing, he had received a phone call from his doctor.  

He had colon cancer.  

I was stunned. And didn’t know what to say or do.  He informed me that he was slated for surgery to have 30 cm of his colon removed that Easter. I grappled with my reaction. I asked him appropriate questions regarding his diagnosis and his general health but I honestly felt a little numb. Actually I felt completely numb - like I had just bathed in Novocain.  I hung up from the phone call, wishing him well, and tried to process, piece by piece, what was happening.  

Fun fact. When you grow up without parents or siblings, you smile and nod when others talk about those relationships with their family. You hear them talking but you really have no way to connect with  what they're saying. You don’t know what they're going through because you have no touch point - no 'hooks' to hang this information on. You know you’re supposed to have a reaction so you try and say what is appropriate but it's impossible to empathize no matter how badly you want to. For years I had listened to friends and co-workers talk about their ailing, sick, dying parents and tried to react in a way that was as understanding and supportive as possible. But I honestly didn't know how it felt to have a parent - that you’ve known your entire life - that has nurtured you, guided you, loved you, supported you - struggle, fade away or die. I had frankly thought that the benefit of not having a mom or dad was that I simply would not have to deal with their eventual passing. It was a rite of passage I would not have to go through. And this knowledge was one of the perverse things that made me feel better about not having a dad. But now, this man I had waited 51 years of my life to meet, was now going to possibly die of cancer? It was hard to get that fact to sink into my brain. He was 70 years old.  What if he died during surgery? Or suffered from complications? What if they could not remove the cancer? What kind of treatments would he have to endure? And where would my place be in all of this?  I was a stranger. What was I supposed to do with this information? What was I supposed to feel? 

I was awash with questions and no answers but one thing became clear to me - that I wanted to be there in case anything happened to him. So, feeling trepidatious, I fired off an email and asked if it was OK that I came for the surgery. My intention was not to intrude but I wanted to be close in case anything happened. You see, the other consideration I was intensely mindful of was this: I had no idea if my sisters knew about me. And even if they did, I had no idea how they had taken the news. This was not the time to come face to face with a hostile situation.  And frankly, given what I was going through with my own family at the time, I did not need any more people  mad at me. I didn't know what situation I would be walking into; so I was clear that I would not intrude. My dad and Norma told me to come.  

The morning before his surgery however, I came down with a bad cold and bronchial infection. I wasn’t going anywhere - particularly to visit someone who was having major surgery. I was deeply disappointed and upset. I spent the day of his surgery anxiously awaiting news that Norma had promised to email.  Thankfully, his surgery went very well and as expected. I communicated via email that entire week to monitor his progress and to let him know I was thinking of him. I was thrilled when I got the first email directly from him.  

Excerpt from his April 4, 2013 email:

“Hi Annette

I had a much better day today... I slept peacefully most of the night ...

If you could come on Fri or Sat that would be good--but only if the roads are OK! Let us know when to expect you...

The Dr says I will likely be out Mon or Tue so that is good news!

Love you !

Don”

It would be my first of many, many emails from him.  And how he closed his email did not escape me.  Love You.  Love. You. Really? I wasn’t sure what to make of that.  

On April 5th, having recuperated sufficiently from my illness, I drove west to visit him. I was terrified. Maybe not as terrified as I was when I first planned to meet him - but definitely nervous and scared.  When it seemed clear that my dad intended to keep in touch with me it knocked the wind out of me a little. I was not prepared for this eventuality. So I did what I normally do when I don’t know something - I looked for a book or a guide to help me navigate these uncharted waters. And found nothing of value as to how I should proceed into these uncharted waters of getting to know one’s father. I didn't know what to expect or how to handle what was ahead of me. I felt as if I was stepping into the abyss and was desperately afraid of blowing it. One wrong move and I could ruin things.  

I was also afraid of running into my half-sisters. What kind of reception would I get? I was afraid they would be upset or that my appearance would make it awkward and I did not want to inject any more stress into the situation. 

The other thing that bothered me was that I didn’t feel like I belonged in this scenario. I was the interloper. The stranger. I prepared to make an appearance when it was convenient for them to have me then back away and let their family come together to deal with my dad’s recovery. I knew I could do nothing else but be brave and hoped I would be gracious in the face of what could be a very awkward situation.  

I drove into Swift Current and Lizzy met me at Burger King for lunch where I nervously ate something (I think) before we both went to the hospital. I had asked Lizzy to come along for moral support and she - like the trooper she is - agreed. (Not sure where I would have been in this whole adventure without her). We walked into the hospital together and Norma met us in the lobby. When we entered my dad's room he looked remarkably well.  Sitting up in bed having finished his lunch, we talked about his surgery and what the doctors were saying.  I tried to keep the conversation going - which actually wasn’t all that hard. Norma was a talker.  And it was evident that her earlier fierce behaviour toward me had subsided. She was now being gracious and accommodating. Not long into my visit an old friend of my dad’s walked in the room to see him. There was no explanation of who I was and I was intensely aware of the fact that my presence created awkwardness for them. I simply introduced myself as Annette then Norma and I left the room to let my dad and his friend talk. 

As we walked down to the cafeteria Norma explained, that with the cancer diagnosis and all the tests and such, they had not gotten around to telling any of their friends about me. I was frankly, really OK with that. She then told me that my half-sisters knew about me and that the news had been received well. She told me that Karen, the oldest daughter, had been very matter of fact about it and declared that they would simply welcome me in. Her daughter Taylor, who was 15 at the time, thought it was cool and had told Norma that this made her the wicked step-mother! My youngest sister Lisa was angry however. Angry that that I had not been part of their lives earlier.  It all spoke to their generosity of heart and was a testament to the value they all put on their relationship with my dad. He was indeed, a hero to his girls.  

The sweet knowledge that my half-sisters had taken the news of my existence so well was quickly displaced by the bomb that went off in my head when Norma told me that they were planning a big “meet Annette” party that summer to introduce me to all their friends and family. Screeeeech! Say what?  That little bit of information sent me into an internal panic. Seriously - there was a clamour in my brain that threatened to topple me. I was literally dizzy at that moment. In my head, I was turning tail and running to distance myself from this. I breathed and tried not to let the terror register on my face. The fact was, I did not want to meet people - or have them meet me. I was unprepared for that. Completely and utterly unprepared. I had never contemplated that scenario and instead of being pleased, I was freaked out! It was an overwhelming thought that I would be the focus of this party. Furthermore, my dad and his family did not know about my separation or the estrangement from my kids. My life had imploded since I had seen them last and there was wreckage everywhere. I was at my weakest and I feared I would be judged for all of it. I imagined what people would think. 

“Look what kind of a loser showed up on Don’s doorstep!” 

Not only that, but I wanted to have my kids and grandkids around me at such a party. I wanted to present them - show them off - so my new family could see how wonderful they all were. But I knew that wouldn’t be possible and it grieved me deeply.   It was all just TOO MUCH! It turns out - I was completely sincere when I had previously assured Norma that I did not come looking for a family. And now I was being told I would meet them all... I felt like I had been hit by a bus. I would go home to Lizzy’s that night and cry the entire evening. And when I woke up in the morning, I would cry some more.  

I returned to the hospital the next morning for another visit before I drove home. This time Lizzy didn’t have to hold my hand. Norma was there again. She reached into the small closet in the hospital room and pulled out a gift bag decorated with chicks and Easter eggs. It was my belated Easter present.  Norma informed me that “Don does all his own shopping” and that he had picked out the items in the bag which included various forms of Lindt chocolate eggs and chicks and some spring bulbs to plant. I thanked them for the lovely gift and told them they didn’t need to do that - but that I appreciated it. I felt touched by the thoughtful gesture. Norma eventually left to visit with someone she knew in the hospital and for the first time since our initial face to face, my dad and I were completely alone. It was then that he slid his hand across the bed. He had been hiding a small box under the blankets and it was now cupped in his hand.  

“This is for you as well”, he said and uncovered the small silver paper box. 

I knew it was jewelry. It’s astounding how many thoughts can race through your brain in the space of a second or two. Shock. Dismay (yes - dismay). Confusion. Wonder. I am highly suspicious of gifts. It has it’s roots from the things Grandad would give me as a girl - things that always strings attached to them.  I have a very, very hard time accepting things from people so when my dad gave me this little box, one of the many thoughts that raced through my mind was this:  Is he trying to make up for the lost years by buying me things?  I was very afraid of that.  What I said was: “You didn’t have to do this.” And I meant it. But his reply was one of the best things anyone has ever said to me:

“When I go on holiday I always buy my girls something.”  

His girls. Karen, Lisa, Taylor. And now, me. I was one of his girls.  

It was one of the first real indications that he meant to include me in his family.  That he had included me in his family. I was thrown off and overjoyed all at the same time. I lifted the lid of that little box and inside was a necklace. A cross with inlaid stone hanging from a silver chain. I put it around my neck and thanked him. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be leaving my neck anytime soon.

I. Was. One. Of. His. Girls.

That afternoon I drove the 2 hours home and sobbed the entire way. I was overwhelmed with so many feelings that I couldn’t begin to put names to them all. Joy. Hope. Fear. Belonging. Insecurity. Happiness. Relief. Broken heartedness. Shock. Amazement.  More fear. All of them roiling into an tumultuous stew of emotions.  I texted David to say I had spent time with my dad but was feeling overwhelmed with these emotions and that I didn’t know what to do about them. I particularly told him of their party plans for the summer and relayed to him how it terrified me. I didn’t know what to do with this acceptance of me. His advice? 

“Embrace it”.  

You would think, right?  But instead, I was so scared and told him so. 

“You have never been loved by a man.” he replied.“Now that your dad is showing love for you, it’s scaring you.”  

Yes. I simply did not know how to process what was happening to me, let alone embrace it. This was a new - albeit wonderful - experience for me and I was panicked. It was during these early stages of my new relationship with him that the many ghosts from the past and present haunted me. I had grown up knowing in my heart that I was a mistake. I had rarely felt accepted or loved completely. Key relationships seemed to have no problem letting me know about my short comings and what was unacceptable about me. My fear was this; I had been given this chance for my dad to love me but once he saw how defective I was, he would turn away. David tried to reassure me. 

“Just be yourself and let him love you as you are” he said.  

But I was used to rejection not acceptance. I would wrestle with this fear and it’s many iterations for a very long time.  

Several weeks after my trip to visit my dad in hospital I received an email out of the blue. It was from my half-sister Karen. By now, I was perfecting the art of sobbing with joy and happiness - and the tears fell as I read this unexpected email.  

“Annette, Dad gave me your email. I hope it is OK if I contact you. It is hard to know what to say or where to begin. I want you to know that you are welcome in our lives but I also want to give you some space to build a relationship with Dad. He is a wonderful person. The timing of his illness really stinks. Nobody is feeling quite like themselves.”  

She went on to describe her week and signed off.  I was deeply touched and appreciative that she would take this step to open the door to her life and invite me in. It would be the first of her many regular weekly emails. 

Yeah...just be myself and let them love me as I was.