For a long time, probably a couple years now, I've had this looming feeling that something major was going to happen in my life. It was not a pleasant sensation, it was a feeling of doom, like something was going to hit that was going to be very difficult. Of course, being the selfish hypochondriac I am, I thought I was going to be diagnosed with some horrible, incurable disease, or get into a bad accident or something. It didn't even cross my mind that this feeling of doom could have to do with another person.
I also felt very strongly that I needed to spend more time at home with my parents in California. Part of the desire to visit California more often had to do with my cute twin nieces and their baby brother Gus, who are growing up so fast it breaks my heart, but I also had the feeling I needed to spend time with my parents, especially my dad. I have been able to go home four times in the last year, when usually I only make it home once a year. After this last trip to Montana, I hadn't planned to go back to home, but for some reason I felt like I needed to. I wanted to be able to sit down and talk to my dad. I wanted to go on a daddy-daughter date with him. I wanted him to share some of his music with me. I booked a flight to California instead of going right back to Utah. Turns out I have a magical intuition.
My dad passed away suddenly a month ago, while I was in California visiting. He and I were able to go on a daddy-daughter date the Monday before he passed, and I was able to sit down with him and listen to a few of the pieces of music he'd been working on. We had pleasant conversations. Things were peaceful between us. I am so thankful I listened to my gut.
You see, my father and I kind of had a rocky relationship. My dad was diagnosed with depression and anxiety (however, I wonder if maybe he was misdiagnosed and was actually bipolar, though we will never know at this point). Growing up, my siblings and I never knew what dad we were going to be greeted with when he got home from work. Sometimes he'd be in a crazy good mood, laughing easily and loudly, joking along with us, having a great time. He could be such a funny, happy guy! But sometimes he was volatile. He had a temper, he was paranoid, he could not be reasoned with. He would overhear conversations we were having, assume we were talking about him, and erupt for no reason, sometimes lecturing us for hours about things we hadn't even said or done. As kids, we all just took it, not wanting to deal with dad, and we'd just roll our eyes and laugh about it with each other later. But as I got older, I became less and less tolerant of these unnecessary outbursts and started to argue back. I had a couple tear-filled, knock-down, drag-out fights with dad because I was so tired of being blamed for saying or doing something I hadn't said or done. Then I just started walking away from such arguments. Especially the last couple years, dad liked to debate about everything, even though none of us wanted to debate. There were a couple times on a recent visit when dad started arguing about something unnecessarily, and I just walked out of the room, ignoring his comments, because I didn't want to deal with him.
We all had so many conversations about what to do about dad. How could we help him? How do we deal with his crazy? Do we just put up with it or argue back? How do you deal with someone who is so unreasonable? How do we love him? Then I listened to an episode of Invisibila (which is a great podcast, check it out) where they talked about this village in Belgium where the villagers take in the mentally-ill. Here is the description of the episode from their website (they do a better job of summarizing than I do):
"We are naturally drawn to finding solutions. But are there ever problems we shouldn't try to solve? Lulu Miller visits a town in Belgium with a completely different approach to dealing with mental illness. Families in the town board people – strangers - with severe mental illnesses in their homes, sometimes for decades. And it works, because they are not looking to cure them."
That last sentence is the trick: the mentally ill who go to this town find happiness and thrive because the people who take them in don't really care if they ever get better. The villagers accept the mentally ill for who they are, crazy and all. The episode goes into more detail about how the families of those who suffer from mental illness actually do more harm than good because they usually have unrealistic expectations for the family member suffering from a mental illness, they get disappointed when the person doesn't make progress or doesn't seem to be getting better, and they have too much pity for the person, saying things like, "I would do anything for them to get better," or "I just want them to be happy." They don't accept the person for who they are, mental illness and all, but instead constantly look for solutions to the problem of mental illness, which ends up being counter-productive. After listening to this episode, my whole view of the way we had been dealing with dad changed, so I sent the episode to my siblings and my mom, and we discussed how we had been treating dad. All of us decided that we needed to be more patient and more accepting of dad, even if he was hard to deal with sometimes. We needed to just let him be, and let go of finding solutions, which is why I wanted to go home and visit him after my trip to Montana. I wanted to repair the damage that had been done. I wanted him to feel loved and cared for. Then he died.
My dad was a music teacher at the junior high in my hometown, and was beloved by his students. We decided to hold a memorial for him at the gym of the school so that students could say words about dad if they wished. It was incredible. The gym was filled with students, parents, teachers, and community members who all went to pay tribute to dad. Several of his students spoke about dad, talking about what a fun, energetic, kind man he was, about how they knew he really cared about them. My dad saw the good in everyone and believed in the kids he taught. He was eccentric, without a doubt, but that was one of the things everyone loved about him. It was so interesting to see the view all of these strangers had of dad as compared to my view of him. I mean, I had always known him to be a very kind and caring man with a big heart who was willing to sacrifice for others. But I also knew the crazy, volatile dad who could be so hard to live with. I had focused more on the negative parts of dad instead of the good parts. How tragic! I have a genuine love and concern for strangers and for friends, yet I am so hard on my family members. I try so hard to see the good in everyone, yet I couldn't focus more on the good in my dad.
Of course I need to be more forgiving of myself. The fact is that dad was good at turning on a happy face and fighting his anxiety to be such a wonderful and loving educator, but that drained him and when he got home, where he didn't have to put on that face anymore, we saw some of the ugly parts of dad. His students saw only the good parts, we saw all parts. Living with someone who has a mental illness is really, really hard, and we did the best we could, but I wish I had done better.
In the last conversation I had with my mom, I admitted to her that anytime someone told me I was like dad I always took it as kind of an insult because of how difficult a person he could be. But now, when I think of all the good in my dad, I want to be like him, and I'm so glad that I have a lot of him in me. I asked my mom what traits she thought I got from dad. She said dad had a curiosity for the world, and if he'd had the time and money he would have travelled a lot more. This makes sense because when I told him I was going to quit my steady job to work seasonal jobs and travel, he said he was proud of me and wished he could join me. My dad felt things very deeply, did not have a very good poker face, and wore his heart on his sleeve; I am very emotional and feel things very deeply. It's hard for my not to express my emotions. My dad was very hard-working and goal-oriented, always striving to achieve; as a little girl I would write lists of goals and then rewards for completing those goals, and I continue to do that as an adult. Dad loved to create things, was always writing poetry and stories and music, of course; I love to paint, write poetry, write stories, and play music. Most beautifully, however, was my dad's huge heart, his willingness to forgive and to see the good in everyone. He gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. I genuinely love people and think everyone is good, or at least has good in them. I try to see the good and bring it out in people, just like my father did. I know I got that from him.
If only I had seen these things earlier. I think my dad and I would have had a much stronger relationship. I would have appreciated him more. But then I wonder if I would have realized any of this if dad hadn't died. Maybe his death was what I needed in order to feel closer to him? I don't know. I'm working through it.
All I can say is this: love those who are closest to you. Forgive them as you would a stranger. Focus on the good. Appreciate them for the people they are, warts and all, but try not to focus too much on the warts. We need to be so much kinder to those we love.
