Thinking about grief and grieving today. If this fairly emotional tone isn't the right read for you today, feel free to skip this one.
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Today is the day that my lovely Uncle died last year. I've been thinking fondly of him today. My family has been sharing moments, quotes, photos, and videos, and we're all just cherishing him and the impact he had on our lives.
My uncle was "special" as they say, and from a young age I was taught that he was more like a kid than an adult. As such, growing up, I quickly learned to take care of him the best I could, even as an 8 year old.
Gosh, his laugh was so boisterous and unfiltered and loud and hilarious. Just unconstrained. He never understood sarcasm or double meanings. I was making him pancakes a couple of years ago and I asked him if he wanted a little bit of love or extra love in his pancakes. Sheepish and quiet, he said "I don't need any love added to my pancakes". My sweetest guy. I hugged him and held him close and simply said, "too bad".
That was who my uncle was. He loved elephants. We'd go to the zoo together often to watch them when we could -- or to see the other towering animals and small puttering sounds of penguins walking.
I fell in love with my wife watching her take his hand, nobody watching, to lead him to his seat at my sister's wedding. Seeing the kissy-face selfies she took with him, stealing my phone -- him not really being able to do it / get it, making a hilarious face, sort of a pucker and blowing out.
My uncle taught me how to constantly see the world with fresh eyes (or at least try). He taught me how to be kind. How to take people at face value, naively, innocently, noticing the sometimes rough and tough energy random strangers would bring his way. My uncle rolled with the punches, always a please and thank you around the corner. Being grumpy was rare for him but hilarious.
My uncle had that infectious love in him. A truly impenetrable shield of kindness because he didn't understand hate or malice, literally.
I remember taking him out to coffee to get out of the house, get on a walk, smell the smells, see dogs. After serving him his latte, our waitress asked him if he wanted any sugar in his coffee. "Oh no thanks, I'm sweet enough as it is".
I miss him dearly. Watching him pass away was intense and I can find myself in that zone/energy/moment and it scares me still. But a year later, the volume on those feelings is turned down and I'm left feeling full, cherishing it all.
Grieving my uncle has been easy. Uncomplicated. Beautiful, frankly.
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Today is strange because I'm feeling a tougher sense of grief that I've been processing for quite some time, making progress in spurts, certainly. That grief is the feeling of letting my hopes for a deep relationship with my dad pass.
Growing up when my dad would come home from work, hearing the crunching gravel in our driveway, we'd quickly hurry to grab our things and go to our rooms to avoid his anger. We'd hide and come down for dinner eventually, later in high school without much talking. My dad would ask how each of our days went. An interrogation instead of a bid for connection. Right and wrong answers.
I was never a rebellious kid, really. I did some drugs in high school -- was awesome -- but I was the guy reading through erow*****(censoring this cuz idk, if you know you know) endlessly before indulging, never reckless. Didn't get great grades because I never respected my dad, didn't have anything to prove. But I paid attention and did well because I was interested enough.
I chose the school I attended in college because I got the most scholarship money from them, not because it was the best school I got into. I didn't want to give my dad any power or feeling of responsibility over my success because, frankly, he didn't deserve it.
My dad lied to all of my immediate family about some things -- harmless to us except for the lying -- and I remember growing up "catching him" and hiding it from my mom and sisters to "protect them". Of course they all knew, I found out years later, processing together. I didn't speak to him for eight months then and as a result he forced me to go to a mens retreat with him where we had a big snotty messy therapy session in front of everyone else there -- it was incredibly powerful -- and I thought things would change. Narrator: "they didn't".
I think that was when my heart really broke alongside my hope. Naively, I thought this was all about me, of course. I'm a kid after all. If only I could do this, then that. I hold my past self tight knowing it was the best I could do.
My mom was my/our saving grace. She was the opposite of him. And now, later, I know, as he resented my mom's love and attention towards us because of his own abandonment, my mom's care and love towards us grew in proportion. She was trying to protect us too, however messy and flawed her actions were.
It was in Glasgow, studying abroad, that I had that truly epiphenal moment: I needed to forgive myself.
I had run myself over the coals my whole life. Truly making myself cynical and sour, frustrated and sad.
I finally realize two things: 1) this was never about me, and 2) I needed to free myself from the attachment I had to being a victim, however appropriate it was to handle how I grew up.
I remember the cherry blossoms on that walk. Truly, a storm had lifted.
I came home my own person, free of both him and how sad I had made myself. When I arrived in the airport, my mom immediately said "You are a man now."
I was.
This isn't some happy story
Thankfully my mom broke up with him soon thereafter. The rejection and pain he felt caused him to actually change, strangely enough. He wanted a mom, in my mom, and when she cut him off, he realized he had to actually own his own life for the first time.
With caution and trepidation and some therapy, I was open to him coming back into my life. I've always wanted a loving dad. I'm just a god damn softy, y'all.
Things improved, much to our dismay. His anger subsided. He reached out to connect, invited us over for casual dinners with his new wife. He mellowed.
I could never trust him, though. And I've had to work on those scars and continue to do so, because god damn, I am absolutely paranoid/terrified about those who I bring into my life who are meant to love me. My wife. My wife, my god, I love her. She understood enough to know when I was driven by fear and pain and the lying to my face from someone who was supposed to love me the most, who was supposed to protect me, not terrify me.
My father in law -- showing genuine kindness WAY TOO EARLY in my relationship with him -- of course that was a trick. A scam. No older-dude could actually just be loving to me like that. Man, he's been my north star for a lot of stuff, seeing his kids love him so much as a dad, and my son loving him so much as a grandfather ("Ga ga").
Unfortunately, as time has passed, my dad's changes have slid behind him, much our disappointment. I don't really know what was happening for him then or now. The thing he says is "I'm not going to apologize anymore for being who I am".
I can feel for my dad. He has his own stuff, objectively worse than how I was raised -- not an excuse, just trying to see the world.
But it's been really challenging and strange to have had my own son because... I cannot help but love him so fucking hard. I wake up in the middle of the night and just listen to his little breaths and snores (hilarious).
It's so easy to love my son.
And so tough to realize that this was there for him and he chose, or couldn't choose, maybe, to resent us instead of love us. To hide and lie instead of show up. That he loved our dogs demonstrably and could barely stand me.
The grief I'm feeling is the grief of letting go of that hope and desire to have a loving, kind, happy dad.
This grief is painful. This grief is ugly. This grief is an inherited legacy of bad decisions from my grandparents and my dad and, with love, even my mom.
This grief has been hard to digest because its opposite is so god damn big and obvious: my love for my own son.
So today, I'm thinking about grief and about who I want to be.
As such, I'll pass on the sugar today, because, well, at least I'm trying to be sweet enough as is.
I love you Uncle Scott. Thank you for teaching me what it means to be good.
