Backward Facing Therapy gives you behind-the-scenes stories from my time as a therapist and therapy client. It’s soulful and transformative mental health content from my couch to yours.
In previous articles, I talked about the difficult relationship I had with my dad as a child.
He expected perfection from me, yet he was flawed.
He wanted loyalty and respect, yet he was disloyal and disrespectful.
He could also be demeaning, sexist, and cruel. As a result, there was a time we didn’t speak for days or months.
Once I became an adult, I no longer had to deal with his passive-aggressive comments or insinuations.
I was able to walk out of the room when he called me fat or told me I would never amount to anything.
Therapy had taught me how to set boundaries and it felt really damn good.
And then I got news from my mom that she was filing for divorce and that she and my dad would be moving out of their house.
My first thought? Mom, what in the hell took you so long?!
My second thought? My parents are getting a divorce after 30+ years of marriage. Holy hell.
My mom slowly adjusted to her new living situation but my dad? He struggled.
He refused to sign the divorce papers and spent his free time chain-smoking, drinking, and brooding.
I had kept my distance from both as I was on my own healing journey but then one day, my mom asked for my help. She wanted me to talk to my dad about signing the divorce papers.
By this time, over two years had gone by and the divorce that wasn’t happening was stressing my mom out.
My mom seldom asked for anything and I knew that she wouldn’t have asked without exhausting all other options.
So off to my dad’s house, I went.
It was the first time I had seen him in over a year and I was immediately struck by how thin and sad he looked. His tiny in-law apartment was a miniature replica of the brown and orange decor from my childhood. It created a sadness in me that I hadn’t felt since my childhood.
It wasn’t only my dad’s physical appearance that had changed. There was something in his demeanor that was different.
“I didn’t treat your mother very well,” he said to me.
“She’s right to divorce me, you know.”
It was the first time I had ever heard my dad admit…
fault.
For over two hours, he vented to me about the divorce and how sad he was that it had come to this.
“I still love your mother and that’s why I haven’t signed the divorce papers.”
“Dad, if you really do love her, you’ll let her go. Sign the papers and let her heal.”
My dad looked at me with tears in his eyes and at that moment, I realized why he seemed so different.
The hubris was gone. The arrogance, the cockiness, the meanness, the air of superiority…it was no longer there.
“I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through, Kim. You didn’t deserve any of it. I was just so mad all of the time. I had all of this anger from my own childhood and I took it out on you and your mother. I served my ego instead of my family and I will regret that for the rest of my life.”
“So how do you think you can best serve your family now, Dad?”
He looks at me, gets up off the couch, and heads over to his desk. He takes out a thick legal envelope, opens it, grabs a pen, and signs his name to it.
“Give these papers to your mother,” he says.
Over the next ten to fifteen years, I watched as the dad of my childhood faded away.
In times of turmoil and stress and disappointment, my dad consoled me.
He supported me during my journey to a Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis.
He cried with me, cooked for me, and rallied behind me when I felt like the weight of life was too heavy to carry.
We talked about my childhood, his childhood, and the things he wished he could change.
It was a time of discovery, healing, and transformation.
For both of us.
So I continued to visit and it was during one of these visits that I noticed my dad was having trouble breathing.
He was also unsteady on his feet and his lips had a blue tint. Since the hospital was about two minutes from his house, I helped him into the car and dropped him off at the emergency room entrance.
After I parked the car and waited in the lobby for what seemed like hours, a doctor came out to tell me that my dad was being admitted.
My dad was diagnosed with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease and would require oxygen support therapy for the remainder of his life. The doctor indicated that my dad’s prognosis was not good and that his life expectancy was three to five years.
I wanted to throw up.
Those damn cigarettes.
Those damn cigarettes that my dad willingly put into his mouth.
Five years after my dad’s diagnosis, it was very difficult for him to get around and it was no longer safe for him to live alone.
After a bit of negotiation, I moved him in with my husband and me.
Despite the weight of caretaking and the weight of watching your father deteriorate, it was an honor and a gift to spend every day with him.
Our relationship was easy and fun and no longer toxic and dysfunctional.
Three years after that, my mom and dad decided to move in together for financial reasons.
Although they were divorced, they had formed a friendship over the years.
For four years my mom was my dad’s primary caretaker. She cooked his meals, did his laundry, and cleaned up after him.
They spent their days talking about the good old days, the bad old days, current events, watching TV, celebrating holidays, and entertaining a few friends and family.
They enjoyed each other’s company.
On January 22, 2020, at 6:25 pm, when my dad took his last breath, my mom and I were both by his side.
It was one of the worst days of my life.
His absence and the absence of his love were so profound that I cried every day for the first four months after his passing.
I miss the way his eyes lit up when I walked into the room.
I miss his phone calls that started with, “I was just thinking about you.”
I miss his kindness and intellect and quirky sense of humor.
I miss him.
“True forgiveness is when you can say, thank you for that experience.” Oprah
Thank you, Dad.
Be well,
Kim
Thank you for sharing Kim, there are similarities to my own story and relationship with my Dad, which was not good when I lived at home. I am so grateful that I got to understand him and why he was the way he was before he passed.