measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- reflections (long freeverse) I have the house to myself this morning. Dad had surgery at 7:30, and then went to the office to catch up on his charts. Anne and Emily left around 9:30 to go over to the laser center. It's quiet and peaceful here, and I'm enjoying the silence. Doing laundry, checking email, talking a bit with Tan about the frustrations. As a stepmother, she has the different perspective on things from me. But she's agreeing that this situation is wrong on a few levels. I guess it's all part of change and growth. Dad's in a new part of his life now, and it's one that I'm not a part of anymore. It's hard to accept, but it is what it is. As knee-jerked annoyed as I was about not being able to sleep in my room when I got here, I've pretty much come to terms that it's just not worth it. It never bothered me that Anne had changed the room. In fact, it looks far better than it had when I was a teenager (a design my mom had chosen that I'd always hated). The room really hasn't been "mine" for about six years, anyway. I personally packed away most of my stuff and put it into boxes in storage. The room was redecorated once Dad and Anne were married. It needed to be-- it hadn't been redone since the mid-80's, and everything was looking tired and worn. I guess sleeping in my bed that I'd used for 18 of my 28 years was just one of my instinctive creature comforts for feeling home. It set of a bit of a tone for the trip, and hasn't recovered. Being in Scott's room felt more like invading his privacy than anything else-- it was Scott's room. As a kid, I wasn't welcome in there. I guess some of those instincts still remain. Now it's a guest room. My room is Anne's boudoir. *shrug* I have to admit that it felt weird hearing Anne and Emily giggling as they fixed their hair this morning from my old bathroom walls. It sounded so much like Andi and I when we were teenagers. And I think more than anything, I realize how sad I am that my dad and I just haven't sat down to get to know each other as we are in life now. My dad doesn't know me as an adult. He sees me maybe every 18 months for a day or two. And since things are so crazy because we're trying to fit dinners and family visits and such in, we haven't gotten that one-on-one time. In his eyes, I'm still the naive kid he sent off to college nearly ten years go. In my eyes, he's still the overbearing dad who kept his emotional distance, and scares the shit out of me. But I think what scares me more is that I won't get to know him before he dies. That he won't be able to see who I've become before he dies. I've spent many years of my life trying to be the person that my dad wanted me to be, without really knowing what those standards are. People tell me that my dad is proud of me, but he doesn't tell me that. Perhaps the whiny, needy feelings that I've expressed this week are just instinctive reactions of never quite knowing where I stand with my dad. I don't like that insecure part of myself that needs to cling. I despise it, actually. And I don't want it to ever become the foreground of my life. In so many ways, I can be strong emotionally, but when it comes to my dad, I break down. Probably because the emotion about the whole issue is SO swirled and so strong. My defenses go up pretty quickly about it. I just want to be able to have some sort of a relationship with my dad. I love him, after all. He's the guy who managed to raise two kids once my mom had moved out. And unlike my mom, who I've come to know and enjoy spending time with as an adult, I've never had that opportunity with my dad. Mostly because of distance, but also because of my stepmother. Because she's really needy, too. I admire my dad a lot. I've always looked up to him. And in that respect, I always wanted to make him very proud. I feel like I've failed him so many times, and that he seems to know that, and so has given up on me like I think he did to my brother. Perhaps I've just come across one of those little pockets of my life that I keep stuffing aside to deal with later. Now that I'm home, some old, untended wounds are just coming open. *shrug* A lot of it is probably just due to the fact that I'm not around. Time keeps moving forward, even if I've left the area. For some stupid reason, my brain has this notion that when I leave, time presses the pause button until I return. And I need to be a bit more realistic about that with myself. Dad called this morning, and we're having dinner together-- just the two of us-- tonight after he gets off work. My grandmother told me that she was going to insist he take some time, after hearing my willingness to just give up on the situation. Having dinner with him gives me a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I can salvage a part of this trip for some good memories. I talked with Tan about it earlier via email-- whether to talk to him about some of these issues, or just enjoy the time. She thought it was a tough call, and it is. But I think I'll just leave the problems for my own solving, and make the best of the evening to just chat with him about life in general. I've had enough tears this trip. I want any others to be ones of happiness, not saddness. *sigh* fucking tears... I need another tissue. 11:31 a.m. - 26 December 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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