I’ve been procrastinating on writing this post. I’m a very forgiving person; I believe that there are few things in life that are unforgiveable. We are all so human and so flawed; we all hurt, we all hurt others. We often don’t mean to; sometimes we do, but even that I have found to be rare. I don’t tend to keep people in my life who intentionally cause me or others pain. Well, not in the last ten years or so, anyway. For most of my life, I’ve been drawn to people who betray, who leave, who crush your heart under their heel and walk away.
The reason for that didn’t become clear to me until I was well into my thirties, and then it hit me like a brick. When you grow up with a parent who continually lies to you, disappoints you, betrays you and your mother, belittles you, deliberately does things that could cause great harm to you and your siblings, and then walks away from the wreckage leaving you to pick yourself up and carry on, it’s what you know. You have this great, aching emptiness inside that you try to fill up with so many different things, and a lot of them just continue the damage. You don’t know for a LONG time (and some people I think never realize it) that there is always going to be a part of your heart that aches for the father you never had, and never will have. There is no filling that up, with anything. But you try, and the damage spreads out over the years. I was lucky; I had a major car accident, one of those things that forces you (if you’re lucky) to look at your life, how you’re living it, what you’re doing that’s not working. I healed myself, mostly. It took a long, long time.
I’ve tried to forgive my father. Most days I think that I have, but even though he’s been dead going on two or three years, the trail of lies that he fed everyone he ever knew keeps rearing it’s ugly head and spreading more hurt. He’s dead but it’s like he’s still here, spewing his poison. So it’s hard to feel like I’ve really forgiven him for all the years and the lies and the wake of ugly he left that we have to keep dealing with.
The latest thing was finding out that my half brother, who he raised as his son, isn’t his son. And of course my poor half brother who’s not my half brother found this out, finally, after my dad isn’t around to confront any longer. His dad…he was never dad to me, he was my biological father. That’s the only dad my half brother ever knew, though. If there was anything good that my father ever did in his life, it was sticking around and raising him, and doing all the things he never did with us or for us. He was a TOTALLY different man to my half brother, and I was always glad about that. Like…at least he has a heart, even if he never showed it to us…his other four children.
But I always wondered about my half brother, because he SO MUCH doesn’t look like any of us, or like my father. At all. Not one feature. So to find out last week from my brother that half brother’s stepdad had finally told him the truth, that my father was not his father, that his father was someone who didn’t want to have anything to do with him when he was born, was not that big a surprise to me. It just makes me angry because now there’s one more person that has to deal with the hurt and pain of that kind of betrayal. Yeah, he fathered him, but he wasn’t his father, and everyone knew it but him.
So yeah…still working on that forgiveness thing with my father. Feels silly almost, because he’s dead. But God…he did so much to try and destroy us.