The Bumpy Road - Chapter 20

I was so aware of all the obstacles I had to wend my way through in order to form a relationship with my dad that it never occurred to me that he might have some obstacles of his own.

I don’t think he realized it either.

Even the best of relationships are super hard. Love is supposed to cover a multitude of sins. And compassion, kindness and forgiveness are necessary ingredients to sustain relationships. Make no mistake about it - meeting a long lost parent is a tremendously hard road to travel. You may, in fact, find yourselves diverging paths at some point. And you know what? That’s OK. Everyone hears the story of me and my dad and they write themselves an ending…you know…the happily ever after one. They suddenly think that my dad will be what their dad was or what they think a dad should be. And I, having no idea what a dad should be, buy into those expectations. Furthermore, I buy into this idea of what a good daughter would or should be. But this is not a Disney movie. Well maybe it is…we just never saw Cinderella and Prince Charming fight it out over dirty socks and too many nights out with the boys. We idealize relationships and that is its kryptonite. We can fill a relationship with compassion, kindness and forgiveness but still be realistic about its flaws and limitations.  

The future relationship with my dad has its limits.  

It is now 5 years later and I think I’ve have found where the apex is. It’s behind me. There have been many gifts on this journey and certainly the journey is not yet over. But I’m unsure, at this point, if my dad will ever know me. And not from my lack of trying. He’s over 70 and his life is in a definite rhythm. I showed up and disrupted that rhythm. But he’s found his groove again, and while his grandchildren and other daughters will likely remain in the centre of his orbit, I’ve become more like a distant moon. I’ve overcome a lot, faced so many fears and challenges - with my sanity and values intact - and I’ve discovered that his presence in my life does not make me a better person. I already was a better person. He was the source of a great deal of joy for a time. My world and heart were expanded.

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” 

- Maya Angelou

You got that right, Maya. Yes, I learned everything I needed to know about my dad in that first 20 minutes. He is a gentle spirit, intelligent and engaging. He also told me he was not a brave or confident person.  He was correct.

For the first couple years our relationship had some forward momentum. It was fuelled by the newness, the excitement, the joy, my proximity - the honeymoon period. Everyone with their best foot forward. And it was bound to hit a bump or two in the road. The bumps made an appearance at the tail end of 2016.

Bump #1

Christmas of 2016 my dad offered to pay my plane fare so that I could “come back home for Christmas”. (For the record, I’ve never considered Saskatchewan my home, but I knew what he meant). The long and short of it is, I accepted, offering to pay half since I would not spend the entire time visiting them. He declined my offer and paid the full shot. (I mention this detail only because for me, it’s significant - I don’t do well with gifts, remember? Worried about all the strings and expectations attached). My dad drove into Regina to pick me up on December 26th and I excitedly hugged him. It was very good to see him again. We spent the next 3 or 4 hours travelling back to the farm talking and catching up. When we arrived at the farm, my dad plugged in the vehicles and stopped to feed his bevy of cats before coming in the house. I carried my luggage into the house and deposited it in the entryway while I removed my coat and boots. I expected, as was typical, for Norma to come rushing to the door to welcome me with her usual enthusiasm. Instead I was met with silence. I even wondered if she was home. I finally called out an inquiring “hello?” Still nothing - no “I’ll be right there!” Just silence. I had hung up my coat, removed my boots and was about ready to carry my suitcase down to the guest room when Norma quietly and nonchalantly appeared in the doorway to the foyer. Arms folded in front of her she leaned against the doorframe and gave me a very cool “Hello”. That was it. I had clearly gone from sub-zero temperatures outside to a similar chilly atmosphere inside. I chose to ignore the awkward acknowledgement and enthusiastically greeted her but let’s just say, what followed in the next four days, was a work-to-rule reception. I tried to discern what was going on with her but received very little that would explain her demeanour. This bothered me.

Bump #2

Despite Norma’s cool reception, my dad seemed to carry on as though nothing was wrong. I fell into step with that. It felt good to talk with him face to face again. He loaned me his truck one day so I could drive into the city and have a visit and dinner with Karen and her family and when I arrived back at the farm that night, Norma’s SUV was gone. I let myself into the house and discovered she was out that evening, but my dad was home by himself. It was nice for us to have some alone time and I took the opportunity to tell him that I had finished writing my book - my story. Our story. I told him I had brought a copy for him to read. I told him I was nervous and terrified to give it to him. It was my heart and soul on those pages. Did I mention I was terrified? I told him that I had given it to several others who were in the book - I wanted their feedback. He seemed excited that I had completed this project. Sure enough, the day I left, he reminded me to give him the transcript so he could read it. I handed it to him and felt this surge of excitement and fear.  

I anxiously awaited a response from him.  

A month passed. Then two. Three. Four. Five. And no response. He would email me from time to time and tell me about the community potlucks, share a few cute stories of my nephews, his and Norma’s travels to Manitoba and Arizona, work trips, bad weather and various other sundry, newsy bits over those months. But not one word about my book. There was never a “I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to read it yet” or “I’m suddenly afraid to read it” or “I totally forgot about it! I’m so sorry!” Just silence. Month after month I waited for a response but got nothing. 

Remind you of anything? 

For me, it rung that bell from all those years prior when I had written him a letter and he chose not to respond. The longer the silence the less able I was to ask him about it. And I could not help but make the obvious comparison. If it had been Karen or Lisa or Taylor who had written a book, he would have responded. He would have read it and responded. I mean - this was not a poem or a song or even a letter to the editor - this was a book! Even if it was abysmal, it was a significant accomplishment. I had given it to five other people to read and they ALL had responded after receiving it - with no prompting from me. I didn’t understand how he could remain silent or oblivious to it. This hurt me.

Bump #3

The week before I moved back home to BC, I sat in the dining room on the top floor of the Fireside Bistro in Regina with my dad and Norma and we had a conversation about staying in touch - how much “Don will miss you”. I clearly remember saying to him how they could come and visit me. How I would love to show them where I grew up and all the places that were special to me.  I remember his reply; “I would like that.” 

Fast forward 8 months into my move when I bought my condo. I told him how they could come and visit now - I had a guest room. I repeated this invitation again once I bought the furniture for that room. I spent that first year making notes of all the places I thought he might enjoy seeing or activities he might enjoy doing. I extended several more invitations to come but he didn’t bite. He once cited their busy schedule and I accepted that excuse. Finally, on that Christmas 2016 visit, he said to me that they were thinking about a trip to Whistler to visit Norma’s niece in April, and would it work for them to visit me at that time? I enthusiastically replied YES! Finally, I thought! Just tell me when and I would ensure I had the time off!

Yeah - and then - you know - the silence. Again. 

He emailed and told me about the trip to Manitoba they made. Then the one to Arizona. Another to Ottawa. But no longer did I hear about any trip to BC. Nearly three years had passed since I moved back to the Island and he had not made the trip to visit. Lizzy had been here three times. My daughter-in-law twice. My youngest son, once. But who’s counting. Yes - with each passing day, week, month, year, the disappointment grew. The hurt took root. This, unfortunately, was not an isolated incident. It was easy to remember and revisit the other times he had been invited into my life and he chose not to do so. For reasons, I believe, he doesn't even know.  

All these bumps left me with choices to make. To stay on this path or step off while I assess what was next. All along, I believed we were both walking a mutually agreed upon path. One leading us to learn, know, and love the other more wholly. And I was happily skipping along until I stopped to notice he had started to lag behind. I slowed my pace to match his - waiting for him to catch up - but suddenly he seemed tentative and reluctant about continuing. And as I stood there waiting for him to join me, I realized his pace had not only slowed, but he had veered off this path and chosen another. The path he had always been on. When the emails devolved into the kind of surface repartee you would engage an acquaintance with, I knew he was firmly back on the path he had been on when I interrupted his life.

I know what you’re thinking - just talk to him about it! Tell him! Ask him! Say something! Yeah - well - here’s the thing. That would presuppose a relationship where there was safety to ask such things. I did not feel that safety. Instead, I felt very keenly, the spectre of all those years of silence. All those years of abandonment. Over the course of my lifetime - even when prompted to engage with me - he had chosen silence. His silence, therefore, spoke loudly to me. I was also aware that this was a relationship I had initiated. While he had been the one to fling open the doors to his life to me he was clearly not willing or able to actually enter my life. 

It was at this juncture, when I was trying to sort through how to proceed in a relationship that seemed stalled, that I mentioned to a friend that perhaps my expectations were too high. (Fall back thinking for me: I am the one to blame/I need to lower my expectations in order to salvage or preserve a relationship). This was where the first reality check moment came. This friend’s reply? 

“You are his daughter.  You get to expect it all!” 

Huh! Imagine that. Up until that point I was almost apologetically in his life. Sorry for disturbing your life. Sorry for the extra birthday you have to remember. Sorry for the extra person you have to consider at holidays and such. Sorry for the upset. Sorry for the path diversion. Sorry for the $1000 plane ticket you had to buy. I had been so afraid that I would do something wrong and disappoint him that it never occurred to me that I might find myself disappointed in him. In particular, since he had been billed by Norma, as a hero to his daughters, I figured he might have this dad-thing figured out - he was the one with the experience in our relationship. It was also the first time I really understood that he was my father and I was his daughter - and there are expectations – dare I say, responsibilities - with that. The fact was this; I had been his daughter since the moment I took my first breath. Did he ever visit me? No. Send me a birthday card or gift every February 18th? Christmas? No and no. Did he pay for my piano lessons? No. Did he congratulate me or observe my graduation from high school? No. Offer to pay for post-secondary? Nope. As a friend pointed out - he made his decision about how he wanted to participate in my life the moment I was born - and nothing had really changed on that front. 

Discontent and unwilling to observe the facade of relationship any longer, I finally wrote my dad a short note to let him know that I was unhappy with the status quo. It went something like this:

“I feel as though our relationship has become stalled and I am unsure what has led to that. I am taking a step back from the relationship - not leaving it - just taking some time to regroup. What remains, is that I love you and am thankful for you”  

I opted to send this message to him in the mail. Not by phone or email as I did not want to have this conversation with Norma the gatekeeper - just him. I felt a note addressed to him would mean this conversation would be between us, since it was our relationship I was interested in figuring out.  

A month later I got a reply.  By email.

It infuriated me from the first word. That first word? “We”.  

Let’s see…to my recollection, I had not written to a “we” - I had written to a “you”. I had not written to plural - I had written to singular. But my reply was from “we”. Apparently, according to this email,  “we” were “shocked and dismayed” at my letter. He (they) then went on to chastise me - school me - on how relationships work. They are not something “we can step away from, put on pause or take a time out.”  

Say what?  Did he seriously just say that?  

Let’s see - my recollection was that is exactly what he did from day one. He chose to “step away”. He took a major time out. And he did so repeatedly. Although he seems unaware of it, he has continued his habit of not stepping into my life.

He went on to inform me that he would continue to email and let me know what they were doing and that he wanted to hear about my life as well. 

He finished his emailed reply to me by expressing this: 

“I sometimes worry that you have no one there to turn to in an emergency or that you can rely on in a time of need.” 

This little paragraph was like the afterburners on a jet plane - fire spewed hot and hard in my brain. Interesting factoid: it has always been others who have been there for me.  People who did not have to be there but voluntarily showed up. My entire existence has been filled with people who willingly stepped into my life with a little or a lot. None of those people were required to be there for me - they chose it. Not only were these people there for me, they are the ones who helped build me, incrementally, into the person I am today. They reminded me who I was when I had forgotten. And they were able to do this because they knew me. Cared about me. And my life today? Rich with people who still choose to enter my life. The temerity of his statement blew my mind. I was heard to loudly respond with: “Who does he think he is?” And right there - distilled in that moment was reality check #2. He may be my father by virtue of DNA, but he was not my dad. And there is a really, really big difference. 

I had certainly not expected to be this furious with him. But I was. I could not and did not reply to his email however a couple things quickly came into focus.  

First, I didn’t know what the proper reply to my note to him should have been, or what I would have considered a good response, but I knew this email was the worst possible option. Suddenly I knew his reply should have been a phone call. A simple “Hey, what’s up” would have opened the doors to expressing, in a constructive way, the things that I was hurt about. The disappointment I was feeling. The confusion I was struggling with. Instead, the response made me realize that it was a me vs. we situation I was dealing with. My ability and desire to build a relationship with my dad would never be possible because it would always be the “we”. And that’s a good deal for him, don’t you think? Safety in numbers. At that moment however, I suddenly realized is that I had a “we” of my own. Always had. I knew, without a doubt, that if he disappeared from my life again, I would be fine. 

As I processed my anger, and sat with, yet again, what my response should or should not be, he managed to infuriate me once again several months later.   

I was in the cafeteria of Victoria General Hospital, a Saturday morning on July 29th. It was about 11 am. I was waiting to hear from the surgeon that had taken a friend of mine into the OR to remove a bunch of her cancerous organs. My friend was 71 years old, and although active and otherwise fairly healthy, the doctor, the day before, had informed us that she had had a heart attack a few years ago and her heart muscle was damaged because of it. Thus, the risk of surgery had been amped up a little. In the midst of my waiting, I got an email. From my dad. 

“We have run away from the heat and drought of Saskatchewan and are in BC travelling with Lorna (Norma's niece) and her husband Ian. 
I would like to see you on this trip if possible… We will be on the Island and could meet you for dinner about 7:30 on Mon. July 31 and spend the evening visiting with you. We could also spend Tue. am and/or have lunch with you on Tue. Aug 1st …and could get time off work.
I know this is rather short notice but I hope that I could have the opportunity to see you and talk with you at this time. 
Please let me know.” 
 
Really?
 

I’m not sure how you processed the message from this email, but, to be clear, I did not jump for joy. There were many things wrong with that email. I was sitting in this empty hospital cafeteria and I wanted to scream and break a few things. Instead I exited the building and embarked on a very brisk walk along the Galloping Goose Trail. As I walked through the forest trail I wondered if I would remember what to do to avoid a confrontation should a cougar cross my path. Then I wondered if a cougar knew what to do to avoid a confrontation with me. I was red hot angry. My walk did two things. It brought the boiling point of my anger down to a manageable simmer and I realized that I was still clearly angry with my dad from the months prior. Later that night, I was able to sit down and process the message I heard in that email and why it made me so angry.  

The first thing I heard from that email was confirmation of where I stood in the pecking order. Although, at the beginning of our journey together he seemed to be telling me I had equal standing with his other daughters, this was clearly not the case. Additionally, it was clear that if anyone would motivate them to make the trip to the coast it was Norma’s niece, not me. But since they were in the neighbourhood…they could fit me in to their schedule as long as it was within this little window of time or that little window of time. Apparently I could pick what sliver of time worked for me. 

How generous of them. (You’re sensing my sarcasm, right?)

The second thing I heard from that email was that I was being invited to a visit that would not only include Norma, but also two people I had never met. This meant that the months of turmoil I had been feeling and the rift in my relationship with my dad was supposed to be ignored and I was to sit across the table - 1 of me and the 4 of them - and make delightful conversation.  

I was not in a delightful frame of mind.

I did not manage to find a moment to craft a reply to his email until Sunday night after I had deposited my friend safely at home. I unpacked my suitcase and finally sat down, utterly exhausted, and replied.

“Unfortunately the timing of your visit is not really good as there is a lot going on right now. I’ve been in Victoria...for the past 4 days...and tomorrow I have to go to Campbell River for work. There’s no way I can take work off this week as I’ve missed a few days last week with (my friend) and we are short staffed as it is. You can check in with me toward the end of the work day tomorrow and see if I’m able to connect tomorrow night but right now I’m not sure I can make that work. The short notice is problematic.”  

 

I went to bed that night and was bone weary. I woke up the next morning just as weary - as though I had not slept at all.  As I dragged myself out of bed to get to my early morning meeting, I saw he had answered my email.  

“I'm sorry to hear things are so hectic right now… I would like to see you but If (sic) things have piled up for you I will understand. If you could text me or call me…tomorrow about 2:30 or 3:00 we could make a decision then.” 

Really?  I gotta tell ya…those specific windows of time he was putting down was not helping matters.  

I made the 45 minute drive to Campbell River that morning, sat around a table with 9 other people for the daylong meeting, then drove the 45 minutes back home. It was then that I sat down and answered his email via text, as per his instructions.

 

“I just got back to the city from my day long training session. I’m not sure where you are on the Island at the moment. I would be able to visit with just you for an hour or so this evening. I think you would agree there is a conversation we need to have however, since you are travelling in a group this might not work for you. And perhaps that conversation is not something you want to have while on vacation.  Either way I hope you enjoy your trip.”

The fact was, I was not prepared to sit around a table with the four of them and act as though nothing was wrong. There was a great deal that was wrong. Adding to that tension was the expectation from him that I would and should move heaven and earth to accommodate his schedule. It was presumptuous and rude. My reply told him what I was prepared to do, when I was prepared to do it and who I was prepared to do it with. It also reminded him that there was an elephant in the room and I refused to ignore it.   

 
He later texted his replied:
 

“…we are coming up to Port Alberni (A city on the opposite coast of the Island from where I live and a 1.5 hour drive). Perhaps you’re right. We need to talk another time. We are somewhat behind schedule so this is not a good opportunity.”

 

I actually laughed out loud when I read that. There was no clearer message than that as to what his priority was. It was not a visit with me. He was not even headed in my direction. And then, you know, there was the schedule all those retired people were on.

The crazy part was - I felt relief when he sent me that text.  

People come up with a myriad of reasons to excuse behaviour that is hurtful - one friend told me not to close a door on this relationship - but the truth of the matter is, I have always had an open door.  My dad, however, has never chosen to walk over the threshold.