The Diary Of A Misfit Kid

New Year and the Art of Forgiveness

January 1st 2023

It's a new year and a new month, which means it's time to reflect on all the things that happened in 2022. I spent most of my time last year in a hospital bed thinking about the things I wish I could make better, like the relationships that seem to be faulty from the start, like the one with my mother, as well as the one I could have had with my now deceased father.

Forgiving my parents has been something that I struggled with my entire adult life. All four of us have done things to one another that are hurtful to our relationships. The thing now is my stepfather and father are both in a better place after battling cancer. Now, five years later, I'm left dealing with the emotional damage of losing two parents early and the hurt of not having a relationship with either man.

My father was an alcoholic, and he drowned his pain from childhood trauma in a 24 pack of Busch beer every day. His trauma made it hard for him to be a proactive father in my life and his trauma became mine as I searched for a way to make my father love me like I loved him. 25 years in therapy has taught me that my dad loved me just in his own way, but I didn't remember that when it came to finding out my dad had stage four lung and liver cancer.

This diary is meant for me to show the good, the bad and the ugly, so this next few lines aren't going to make me look very good, but at the time I was hurt.

It was a snowy day in February when my dad's then girlfriend told me my father was dying of cancer and didn't have long to live. I was livid because once again my father failed to tell me something important Kinda like having my grandmother call me to tell me my dad moved away to Tennessee when I was 10 years old. I didn't see him again for four years. I remember going to school with my first anxiety attack because I didn't understand how the man I loved the most had just abandoned me. The man I look like and act like the most in a way cared about me the least.

So I called him with anger dripping off every part of me and I yelled, screamed and cried. I wanted to know why he wanted to keep this from me, and his answer was it was none of my business. The fuse was lit, and we bashed each other for all of our faults. By the end of the call, my dad told me he wished I would have killed myself a long time ago, and I told him I hoped he died alone.

Two weeks later, my father died at 12 pm and I had to find out via Facebook about it from his girlfriend. No one in his family had called to tell me anything. I remember sinking down into the living room floor and screaming as my mother tried to console me through the event.

I never got to be there for my father or tell him that I was sorry, and those last words to him still haunted me. I can't forgive myself for saying such horrible things to the man that is partially responsible for bringing me into the world had now left me. I felt like that ten-year-old little girl not understanding why.

Ive spent the last five years working on this in therapy and the biggest thing I can understand from it is that my dad knew I loved him and, in some ways, he loved me. He had no hate in his heart for me when he passed. I just need to learn to forgive myself for the part I played in the part and watch my mouth when I speak to people while angry.

The relationship with my mother has been rocky since the day I was born. We don't see eye to eye on anything. If I see something as black, she will say it's white. That's how it's been for the last thirty-two years. Her mother is the same way and their relationship is just about the same as ours. My mom was nineteen when she had me and to be honest she nor my dad were ready to bring a child in to the world.

My mom was a partier, and I spent my time in the care of other people when family couldn't watch me, which lead to me being molested at the age of five until I was ten. It was from a family friend and I wasn't able to say anything until I turned 17. By that time, my mental health had gone haywire, and I hated anyone in my path.

I found it hard to forgive my mother for this and for being neglectful for half my life, choosing to step up once my brother was born and grow up. She and my stepfather met in 98 and were married shortly after. Those three became a family, and I felt like an outsider looking in. It took me until last year to realize that my mom was doing what her mother taught her and that in order to have any type of relationship with her. I was going to have to forgive the past and focus on the present.

Was it hard? Fuck yeah many fights happened because i just wanted to hear two simply words, I'm sorry. I could have continued to hold my breath or realise that's not in her DNA too easily say those words. So, for my peace of mind, I chose the second. This doesn't mean that the past doesn't come up every now and again, but in order to have that peace I try to focus on what good times I had with my mom when I'm in her company and work on forgiving her while I'm in therapy. It's the best gift I could have ever given myself.