July 16th
Today is my father’s birthday. He would have been 68 years old had he not passed away in 2021.
Whenever I see posts online about people going to therapy because of all the people in their life that won’t, I think of my dad. The last conversation we had about therapy was him saying he wasn’t telling no stranger none of his business and the past is the past for a reason. Despite him being religious and centering God in his life, this man was not in the least bit healed or on a path of healing. So, he wasn’t concerned with how his intentional decision to not deal with his past and current demons bled into the lives of his family.
He’s the main reason that I cringe when I hear people say that “all parents are doing their best” and “they could only do what they knew best"“… because not only are these blanket statement excuses, they aren’t universal truths. Some parents do what’s easiest for themselves and also what they believe is right, with no regard for the child(ren) they are raising. Sometimes it’s as simple as they don’t view children as deserving of that consideration. Of course there are other reasons but at the end of the day, we know that anyone we’re in a relationship with, we should be considerate of… if you don’t give a fuck about how your actions, words, and consistent behaviors affect other people, it stands to reason, you definitely wouldn’t care about how children are affected.
So, every July 16th and April 13th I’m reminded of one of the first people I’ve ever loved, intentionally not loving me anywhere near how I needed to be loved. I also think about how that love wasn’t extended to my mother, sister, or brother either. Sure, it could be narrowed down to “how much did he even love himself?” but those aren’t musings that I’m sitting with because I’ve already accepted a reality when it comes to my father. He died without making any effort to fix things between us… and it was intentional. I also received a posthumous letter that started out as an explanation but then a clear declaration that the letter was not an apology. I sat with that terrible ass letter, trying to convince myself that maybe he used a word incorrectly and maybe I was misunderstanding what he was trying to say… and then I remind myself that despite the crushing pain he was experiencing in his last days, he apologized to my mother, brother, sister, and nephew.
He didn’t apologize to me… nor did he give me the letter. My mother found the letter, read it, and gave it to me. I still think she should have burned it and let sleeping dogs lie… instead, I think misery was seeking some company. His birthday reminds me of the time I have before I reach his age of death… and how I want it to be time spent making sure the people I invest time in, feel and know they’re loved. Most of my life I’d been mirroring my father’s view of emotions…”don’t be a sissy”, “don’t be so sensitive”, “don’t nobody care about how you feel”, and a plethora of other actions to indicate that vulnerability was not okay. I had successful surrounded myself with people who embodied some (or all) of these things. It became detrimental to my mental health when I decided to bring a child into this world. No child deserves to grow up in a home where vulnerability will get you beat the fuck up. So, I committed to changing and unlearning things deeply embedded in my way of life for 30 years.
My father’s birthday has become a reminder that as a parent, doing my best and doing what’s best for my child are sometimes two very different things. I’ll have to prioritize healthier options for both of us, not what’s easiest. His birthday is a reminder that it doesn’t matter what I knew up until I had a child; I have a responsibility to myself and the child to unlearn, learn, and process healthier ways of doing things. I’m also reminded that since I decided to bring a child into this world, I have to keep working to ensure I don’t contribute to their life being unnecessarily difficult. Every year that goes by with my father’s ashes somewhere out there sitting in silence is another year I can live out loud without any fear that used to come with being attached to him.
It’s not a happy birthday but it’s a necessary mourning… one day, the memory of him might not hurt as much as it does now.
