While I find writing to be as cathartic as an activity has the possibility to be, I am no longer writing in my private-tucked-away-under-the-mattress journal where I can be angry or hurt or simply rant about shit without fear of censure from the eyes and opinions of another. And while I have put some personal things into this blog, when I'm here, for some reason, I'm able to put emotional distance between myself and the subject I'm writing about...OK, well sometimes. But those that I'm not distanced from are issues that I've already dealt with in the private, enough to take the edge off the heartache or the anger or whatever other emotions I go through to write about a particular subject.
I can't say that about all that is going on today. It's fresh. Some of the emotions are brand new, even if the situations are not. Odd, isn't it, how that happens sometimes. I've been going through over a year of...how shall I put this tactfully... Delusional Bullshit with my father. Throughout the year, I was hurt and saddened over the situation, but in a resigned, wish-you-well-sorry-you-think-that sort of way. I was surprised that he had come to the conclusions that he had, and suspected that he may be in the beginning stages of dementia. I understand that those suffering this mental disease tend to feel persecuted, may make up conspiracy theories, and cut themselves off from others by way of being hostile to the point of belligerence and yet, even as their theories and conclusions make perfect sense to them, make no reasonable sense to those around them... (this is my understanding anyway, if you've had a different experience or have more knowledge, please add your insights in comments, it would be appreciated.)
This is not a new situation, as I have said. I was side-swiped with this particular Mack truck right around Christmas last year. In the time since, I have accepted that he wants no contact with me. I can not get behind the reasoning, which is the opposite of accurate. (So much so, that latest reports have a completely different line of reasoning for my alienation, though it still ends up with the same result.) What I do get is his way of dealing with it, I understand how my father is. I am cut off because I am Satan. Luckily for me, I am not alone, my sister is also Satan for completely different reasons. Her story, to hear her side of it, was a misunderstanding that has been apologized for repeatedly. To hear the opposing side, she is the most vindictive, malicious human being to ever walk the earth and her name is not mentionable--since downright execution is currently unavailable for her transgressions.
I believe the truth to lie somewhere in the middle of the two sides, since in my experience, that is usually where it tends to be. I've come to conclude through my years that fact and perception rarely line up together in relationships. However, considering the other 'view point conclusions' my father has been making, after they have been mulled over as featured topics of the conspiracy-evolutionist-discussion group (consisting of my father and my step-mother) and the fact that there is always a 'base reason' and then a host of other not-necessarily-related reasons that someone has sprouted horns and become lower than an untouchable in India, I tend to see his reasoning, and that of his newly appointed mouthpiece, my step-mother,
OK, so getting on with the story... yesterday morning, I received an email from my aunt (NOT my father, but my father's sister, if you hadn't guessed that part already) informing me and my sister that my grandmother, who has been in the hospital for over two weeks now, was being moved yesterday from the hospital to hospice. As positive as I'd like to be about her condition, factoring in the that she was not going home, but to hospice... well, to be honest with myself about the situation, I have to admit that she's dying, and soon. I have been somewhat poised for this news since I found out that she was in the hospital in the first place. My grandmother, although in her 90's, doesn't go to the hospital unless it's major. She spent her professional life as a nurse, and with age, she's gotten a fair bit stubborn about her own health. Readily admitting some things, like the need for hearing aids, and in complete denial about others like taking vitamins not specifically prescribed or recommended by the doctor. That said, I knew her being in the hospital overnight at all was a huge red flag. I immediately started doing distance reiki treatments on her, and I knew that she was ready to be done with this particular life experience because she told me so, but that is a whole other post...
Despite all of this, the hospice thing hit me kind of hard, and made me look at some reality crap, like my inevitable soonish visit to NJ for the funeral. My sister was relieved that I have decided to be there despite our disowned state with my father. She was mostly relieved because she wasn't sure that she could hold her tongue in such close proximity to our father. As evil as he perceives us, she has been doing a lot of introspective-therapy-type stuff and has a large amount of her own anger back at him, and several issues that stem from it. Over her four (plus goodness knows how many) years of alienation from my father, she has gone from trying many avenues of reconciliation and communication to utter disgust at the thought of him. Basically, hold her tongue is my polite way of saying that she wants to rip his head off and spit a loogie down his neck.
So, I took a nap yesterday to get a break from the swirling-family-tornado-waiting-to-happen (that and I was up way too late reading a good book). I was not expecting the angry indignation toward my father that I woke up with. I had felt many emotions over the past year toward him and the situation, but this was a new one. I had my soap-box-conversation with him in my head (because the person you're talking to can't interrupt your litany this way) while I was folding laundry. I made several good points concerning all of the accusations leveled at me by their particular hanging committee. When I was finished, I was unsure if I would be able to contain myself at the funeral, let alone talk my sister down.
With the dawn of a new day, the red-hot anger is gone, so I am confident that I will be able to keep my composure. Those many valid points may never get made to the appropriate person, but I can work them out and heal my own emotional wounds without behaving like a total ass. My grandmother deserves much better than to have her funeral remembered for an uproar worthy of the Hatfields and McCoys.
One thing that I do know for sure is this, everyone is simply trying to get through their days to the best of their ability. I have a feeling that I'm going to have to adopt this as my mantra for this difficult time... and I'm going to need to take A Lot of deep breaths.