Date: January 12, 1978
Age: 7 1/2 months
The pie on the other side of this card is my favorite. Maybe you can make me some when you are older.
Love, Daddy
If my dad had been eating solid food when my brothers and I visited him, we may have brought him a key lime cake that he loves from a baker down there.
I don't even know where to begin with this post. Starting at the beginning sounds unappealing, because working through to the end seems unbearable.
I had brought postcards with me to Miami, but then thought better of blogging there--since my brothers and I were staying at my dad and H's house, I didn't want to leave behind any evidence of this website on their computer (or one of them--it looks like they have four).
I don't want to go back through the blog to see how much I've discussed about how my dad has not wanted his family to visit. Those close to me, however, know that my brothers and I have repeatedly asked or tried to see him, and he discourages us. Visits are "work."
Since it's been nearly a year since we've seen him, we weren't prepared for his appearance. He looks so old. Although he hasn't eaten solid food in a few weeks, he doesn't look emaciated, but bloated from fluids. He has hair, but it's patchy. His eyes are sunken in, circled in black. His hands shake, he sometimes wheezes, and he was able to walk about twenty feet outside his hospital room before he became too weak to continue. He cried a little, because he's depressed and scared. He doesn't believe he's going to survive this, and I'm not sure many others do, either.
My brothers and I thought we'd try to make the most out of this trip--we wanted to take H out to dinner one night, to give her a break, because she doesn't only spend all day at the hospital, but she sleeps there as well. We weren't successful. She won't leave his side, and the only way she might have was if Dad encouraged her to go. That didn't happen.
Tuesday morning's visit--our second visit of the trip--did not last long. Dad was exhausted, but he also looked like he could cry, and probably didn't want to do it in front of us. We gave him his space and said we'd visit later that day--calling him or H to find out when would be the best time.
As the afternoon went on, their cell phones were forever switched off. Calls went straight to voicemail.
C, B and I made lunch and ate poolside at Dad and H's house. Took a swim, got a little sun. Had a drink. We debated what to do. Should we keep calling? Just show up? Wouldn't he hate that? Are their phones purposely turned off so we can't make plans to see him? Fuck it, we said, we're going over around 4pm, and we'll leave messages saying so. If they listen to the messages and don't want us there, then they'll have to call and let us know.
Things seemed okay at first when we arrived. And then my brothers and I get this:
"I was shocked and disappointed that none of you have come to visit me since this all began."
We're flabbergasted. I'm so angry, I can hear my heart beat and tears are at the ready. H is in the corner of the room with her face turned away, fighting back tears. It's wrong to gang up on a guy whose life may end in a matter of months, but something needs to be said.
"We have been trying for over a year to visit you, and you have always told us not to come," I say.
"That was here," he said. "I'm talking about in Arkansas."
Arkansas, where he would go for weeks at a time for his stem cell transplants. "People have visited me and asked, 'where are your kids?'" he said. "My one dream was that at Christmas, when I was in Arkansas, at least one of you would surprise me on Christmas Day. But no one showed up."
B and C are as absolutely slackjawed as I am, and fortunately, they will not let Dad make them feel guilty, either. C told him that he was shocked to be hearing this, and it always seemed like the repeated discouragement we received about visiting blanketed everywhere he was--it didn't matter the location, we weren't wanted. B added that we've been kept in the dark for so long, we figured this is how Dad wanted it, this was the way he needed to deal with his illness.
Dad quickly swept this all aside with "well, I guess there was just miscommunication." How about NO communication? We can't fucking read his mind and realize the "no visitors" only applies to Miami, not Arkansas. I said, "Dad, when you said we could finally come down to visit here in Miami, the three of us were so startled and wondered what changed. And we made plane reseravations THE NEXT FUCKING DAY." (only I didn't use the word "fucking.")
Finally, H speaks up a bit--and in our defense! "He has asked people to stay away, so I can understand why there would be confusion." Or some bullshit like that.
This awful, horrible, melodramatic conversation lasted maybe all of three minutes, but it overshadowed the rest of the visit. I, for one, just wanted to leave. B and C and I were so angry when we finally got out of there. The man is delusional. Does he care about us? To an extent. But he hasn't wanted our presence. If all three of us have thought that all this time, there's no ambiguity in the message. Now he wants to be surrounded by his kids--but maybe only to somehow prove to himself that he is an integral part of our lives.
I can only imagine how many of his friends he's complained to by our inability to visit. There's probably people out there that think we're ungrateful kids. And if he truly was lamenting our absence while he was in Arkansas, if there was something my brothers and I missed to pick up on--why the hell didn't H call and tell us to get our asses to Little Rock? Because she does his bidding, that's why. He tells her what to do, what to tell us and not tell us, and that's it. (The woman drives an expensive 2009 Cadillac, for fuck's sake, and she's not even 40 years old. How many women who aren't even near menopause drive a Caddy? Those who let their 70-year-old husbands make all the decisions, that's who.) So I'll be damned if I'm going to be made to feel guilty about this, and my brothers feel the same way. As we discussed once we were safely out of there, this is the man who:
I'll report more about the trip during another posting. This is enough for today.
I don't even know where to begin with this post. Starting at the beginning sounds unappealing, because working through to the end seems unbearable.
I had brought postcards with me to Miami, but then thought better of blogging there--since my brothers and I were staying at my dad and H's house, I didn't want to leave behind any evidence of this website on their computer (or one of them--it looks like they have four).
I don't want to go back through the blog to see how much I've discussed about how my dad has not wanted his family to visit. Those close to me, however, know that my brothers and I have repeatedly asked or tried to see him, and he discourages us. Visits are "work."
Since it's been nearly a year since we've seen him, we weren't prepared for his appearance. He looks so old. Although he hasn't eaten solid food in a few weeks, he doesn't look emaciated, but bloated from fluids. He has hair, but it's patchy. His eyes are sunken in, circled in black. His hands shake, he sometimes wheezes, and he was able to walk about twenty feet outside his hospital room before he became too weak to continue. He cried a little, because he's depressed and scared. He doesn't believe he's going to survive this, and I'm not sure many others do, either.
My brothers and I thought we'd try to make the most out of this trip--we wanted to take H out to dinner one night, to give her a break, because she doesn't only spend all day at the hospital, but she sleeps there as well. We weren't successful. She won't leave his side, and the only way she might have was if Dad encouraged her to go. That didn't happen.
Tuesday morning's visit--our second visit of the trip--did not last long. Dad was exhausted, but he also looked like he could cry, and probably didn't want to do it in front of us. We gave him his space and said we'd visit later that day--calling him or H to find out when would be the best time.
As the afternoon went on, their cell phones were forever switched off. Calls went straight to voicemail.
C, B and I made lunch and ate poolside at Dad and H's house. Took a swim, got a little sun. Had a drink. We debated what to do. Should we keep calling? Just show up? Wouldn't he hate that? Are their phones purposely turned off so we can't make plans to see him? Fuck it, we said, we're going over around 4pm, and we'll leave messages saying so. If they listen to the messages and don't want us there, then they'll have to call and let us know.
Things seemed okay at first when we arrived. And then my brothers and I get this:
"I was shocked and disappointed that none of you have come to visit me since this all began."
We're flabbergasted. I'm so angry, I can hear my heart beat and tears are at the ready. H is in the corner of the room with her face turned away, fighting back tears. It's wrong to gang up on a guy whose life may end in a matter of months, but something needs to be said.
"We have been trying for over a year to visit you, and you have always told us not to come," I say.
"That was here," he said. "I'm talking about in Arkansas."
Arkansas, where he would go for weeks at a time for his stem cell transplants. "People have visited me and asked, 'where are your kids?'" he said. "My one dream was that at Christmas, when I was in Arkansas, at least one of you would surprise me on Christmas Day. But no one showed up."
B and C are as absolutely slackjawed as I am, and fortunately, they will not let Dad make them feel guilty, either. C told him that he was shocked to be hearing this, and it always seemed like the repeated discouragement we received about visiting blanketed everywhere he was--it didn't matter the location, we weren't wanted. B added that we've been kept in the dark for so long, we figured this is how Dad wanted it, this was the way he needed to deal with his illness.
Dad quickly swept this all aside with "well, I guess there was just miscommunication." How about NO communication? We can't fucking read his mind and realize the "no visitors" only applies to Miami, not Arkansas. I said, "Dad, when you said we could finally come down to visit here in Miami, the three of us were so startled and wondered what changed. And we made plane reseravations THE NEXT FUCKING DAY." (only I didn't use the word "fucking.")
Finally, H speaks up a bit--and in our defense! "He has asked people to stay away, so I can understand why there would be confusion." Or some bullshit like that.
This awful, horrible, melodramatic conversation lasted maybe all of three minutes, but it overshadowed the rest of the visit. I, for one, just wanted to leave. B and C and I were so angry when we finally got out of there. The man is delusional. Does he care about us? To an extent. But he hasn't wanted our presence. If all three of us have thought that all this time, there's no ambiguity in the message. Now he wants to be surrounded by his kids--but maybe only to somehow prove to himself that he is an integral part of our lives.
I can only imagine how many of his friends he's complained to by our inability to visit. There's probably people out there that think we're ungrateful kids. And if he truly was lamenting our absence while he was in Arkansas, if there was something my brothers and I missed to pick up on--why the hell didn't H call and tell us to get our asses to Little Rock? Because she does his bidding, that's why. He tells her what to do, what to tell us and not tell us, and that's it. (The woman drives an expensive 2009 Cadillac, for fuck's sake, and she's not even 40 years old. How many women who aren't even near menopause drive a Caddy? Those who let their 70-year-old husbands make all the decisions, that's who.) So I'll be damned if I'm going to be made to feel guilty about this, and my brothers feel the same way. As we discussed once we were safely out of there, this is the man who:
- did not visit C in the hospital as a teenager when the doctors and his mother were scared that he had leukemia.
- was not going to come to my college graduation because "we were not one big happy family," until B intervened and told him to grow up and get to the goddamn graduation.
- has not been to B's house but once, when he moved in, probably 12 years ago. My dad blames it on B's dog, because Dad is allergic.
- Dad has also blamed his divorce from my mom on the account that she and I bought a cat after he moved out, and "that was a clear signal that I was not welcome back." (Again, because of allergies." Never mind that he was having an affair with H (which he denied.)
- H was not the first of his indiscretions, during his marriages to both my mother and B and C's.
I'll report more about the trip during another posting. This is enough for today.
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