Why the Disdain?

Why do you disdain me? I have accepted that you have excluded me, excommunicated me but I still wonder why. Although I am your first born, I am not worthy of your presence. Is it because I am a woman? Is it because I am my mother's daughter?

Why does the sound of my voice make you shrill? I can see it in your eyes, although our eyes never connect. We have the same eyes for one another now, hazel and disconnected. I used to want your approval, your love and acceptance. I tried. I called, reached out. I forgave you. Still do.

Yet, I can feel your rejection in my bones. I can sense your recoil when I enter a room. It is painful.

Where did the man go who taught me to tie my shoes and ride my bike? Have I gotten too fat for you to love me anymore? Have I not been successful enough, or too successful. Do I not deserve you and your love any longer?

Perhaps you do not feel worthy of me so you shrill away. Perhaps you see the pain you have caused me and you can't face it. I doubt that you can see that deep.

It was easier to accept you and your flaws when you were stronger, younger. It was easier to set boundaries with you then, easier to shut you out. Now that you are weak and dying, I feel I should be more for you, better to you. But what more can I do? I have tried as much as I can.

Perhaps you feel the same way.

I have already started to grieve you. Years ago I started to grieve you. I had to grieve my own mother before she passed away too. You know her, the woman you once loved then spent my whole life hating and telling me about it even on the day I was on my way to bury her. When you both divorced when I was two years old, I must have still had hope for happiness. Today, I grieve that hope and grieve that happiness.

With my own beloved husband and beautiful children, I find my heart still broken, unable to love them in the way I want. I try. I have spent countless of resources on self help books, counseling, support groups, rehab and Bible studies. Yet, in my mid-to-late-thirties, here I sit writing about the emptiness and sorrow. I chose love and a bright future, but only find loneliness and heartache.

Was this depression and mental instability in our blood, passed through the family tree? Or did your actions spur the insecurities in my heart, breaking it forever more? Now, my own children, ripe with life and the light of their future ahead of them, both struggle with mood disorders, depression and anxiety. Did I cause their brokenness from my actions or was it an illness handed to them from the core of their being found in the womb?

I am not trying to pass blame. I am just trying to solve this puzzle. Also, wondering why the disdain for me, your first-born, your only daughter?

My Dad is in a Wheelchair

Yet, another one of my current life's tribulations is the story of my father. He is the only person in my extended family still alive and I am only 36 years old. Last year, after my mother passed away and my daughter got the diagnosis of PDD-NOS, I can remember awaiting the phone calls from my step mother regarding my dad's test results. They went to numerous specialists and even some non-traditional medical professionals over a nine month stretch. Yet, to this day, we have no accurate diagnosis. All we know is that he started losing his balance. He started losing his muscle tone. And because of that, at the young age of 62, he lost his private medical practice too. He could no longer stand long enough to treat his patients. His legs would quiver so much that he couldn't even take one step forward without having to concentrate and hope not to fall down. And, when he falls, he can't get up. I still can't believe my eyes! And, when I call to talk to him on the phone, he slurs like he is drunk although he is not.

When we traveled to Chicago last weekend to celebrate my brother's 30th birthday and watch him run, ride and swim in a Triathlon, I was startled to see my dad in a wheel chair for the first time. It was balmy and crowded and we were all tired from maneuvering through the masses on the crowded sidewalks. I think I drank like ten bottles of water to keep hydrated that day. I would offer my dad some water, or snack and he would decline because he knew that he wasn't able to wheel himself into the bathroom, I think that is why. Either that or he is depressed.

My heart is so sad for him and for my step mom. Today, the Saltville school system is honoring my father in the Hall of Fame for his years of service to the school corporation. Since he had to sell of his practice last year and slide into an unwelcoming retirement, this is a big celebration for him. We are loading the van right now and preparing for our drive there. I am looking forward to seeing others acknowledge him and his dedication through the many years. Yet, I am scared that I and the rest of my family may be forced to recognize his handicap - how it has snuck up on us, how we don't have a name for it and how we don't know how his future will stand.

More on my father, his condition and our past relationship struggles in future posts...