I have toyed with the idea of editing the "Dreidels and Doorstops" entry to make happy a certain individual who sent me a rather curt (boy! I really had to work to find the right word) email. I never thought I would have to justify my emotions, my feelings, my thoughts and dreams and wishes and fears and ....well, you get the idea.
At the time, I was hurt by the lack of identity, and by words said that I both knew were not meant to be hurtful (but were) and by the fact that those words seemed to come from nowhere (when I quite heard the opposite stated form the individual uttering them originally).
Really? Is there really something wrong with saying I felt bad? I stated facts, I was not embellishing and I was cautionary in regards to my grandmother's age and mental acumen. I took all into account and still could not put aside the feelings it evoked. Sorry if that offends. Maybe, read with eyes and mind open, and for the entire content. That is just a suggestion.
Remember, this is my journal...my blog. So it will include my days, my feelings, my highs and lows, failures, insecurities, foibles, moments of pride, feelings of hopelessness, and reflect my successes and apprehensions, skepticism, doubt, hope, fears, my joy and pain. And I will write it all in my words.
Am I to start apologizing for reveling in a job well done, too? Well, then let me not mention that the video I created for Faygo ended up in second place.
I have always felt like an outsider in my own family. A misfit, as well as a miss-fit.
Why? I do not know, but the feeling has always been there.
Lately, I have begun thinking about how it seems I always carried a camera into 'family' gatherings in order to have a place - for a reason to exist in that spot at that time. Without the camera I was an intruder. Odd, I know, but I recall having those feelings.
To this day, I still feel those feelings...and I cannot tell you why. Only, with recent events, I have never felt more justified. Driving the nail 'home' are recent events with my youngest brother and the advent of discovering my 'father' has been here in Michigan for the last several years, only a handful of miles from us here in Clarkston, and coming face-to-face with him over the holidays.
My sons and I were heading to the theater Christmas day to see Sherlock Holmes, and I asked the boys to take a detour in order to knock on his door and say........what? What do you say to someone who so obviously had no desire to be a part of your life...or have me as a part in his?
Did I imagine some loving reunion? No, but I hoped for a bit of recrimination, or happiness, or something.
He didn't even know me. I knew the boys would be unfamiliar to him, but he looked through me, and when I said 'hello', there was no recognition. I asked him if he knew who I was, and he said "no." I told him I was his daughter, and he didn't even blink.
Why on earth didn't I turn and walk away?
He once told me he didn't want to be a dad, that he wasn't ready when his children came along - well, I guess I gave someone the gift they wanted.
He had made his life with the latest wife - Beverly number two - and her children figured in prominently, while his own kids were packed in boxes and the memories of us were pushed to the back of the attic.
I suppose, though, I should pretend it doesn't matter and not say a word about how I feel. Bitter, bitter, bitter.
They were having a glorious family Christmas, opening gifts and laughing and talking when we arrived...so I apologized for having interrupted their holiday and left.
Clearly we were not where we should be. I was not where I should be, and I had dragged the boys along for protection.
After all, I had given Bag Lady my phone number only 3 weeks before (so he could contact us and make plans to get re-acquainted with the boys - BS!). While Andy was in the hospital for his surgery, I called to get some sort of medical history, in case it might become pertinent. There was idle prattle and chit chat, mostly about them and their travails. No hint of concern about Andy or how he was...would I call and keep them updated? Dad wasn't there, and that's when I should have said I would call another time. I had had to explain who I was when she answered the phone, too.
Since then, I've not heard from them/him. I suppose I should not be surprised.
Standing there, in that entry way, knowing I wasn't part of his family - my family - this limb on my family tree, I felt small.
Where was my camera?
I keep replaying the scene in my head. I tried to briefly fill him in on Andy, but they kept making u-turns in the conversation, and bringing it back to dad and his health and job woes. There was nothing I could say that didn't become "them-centric," and Brian and Karl were standing there watching the train wreck. Brian made the effort to drag mom from the tracks, and I took the hint from his expression and subtle eye movement to make our excuses and go.
Don't look back.
Karl hoisted one poor inflated Santa from his prone wheezing position next to the driveway, and we climbed into the car and pulled away.
Lots of silence.
I suppose the next time I see him he will be in a coffin - that is, if I get a call that the final breath has been drawn. I'm not counting on that, though.
These are my feelings, holiday time or not. This is life, and just because it isn't happening in your living room or in front of you doesn't diminish the feelings I have. This is part of the reason I was bruised by Gram's words. There have been many such incidents throughout my life where I felt completely left behind, excluded, invisible some more recent than others. I know everybody has them, but I am dealing with my own. I am dealing with it as best I can.
Deal with it or read something else. May I suggest some Dickinson?
Sorry.
