Erika E

As my dad’s health declined, he got grumpy. Not that I can blame him really. He was uncomfortable, in constant pain, & robbed of his independence. Yet as he got grumpier, instead of doing my best to understand where he was coming from, I got grumpy. I started to nitpick over the stupidest things, the memories came flooding back, & I lashed out without warning.

Perhaps it was because he was bedridden & a captive audience. Maybe it was because I felt I only had so much time to address everything I had boxed up & buried over the years. At times I was simply defending myself from his unpredictable attacks. No matter what the catalyst was, I started bringing up shit from my childhood. Hurt & pain that I’m pretty damn sure he never realized I had harbored for all those years.

I am embarrassed to admit that he & I verbally fought so much in his last month of life, but I need to talk about it. Why? A wise soul, known simply as Emmet, once shared an incredibly powerful Dr. Brené Brown quote with me that I still refer to today, “Shame cannot survive being spoken. It cannot survive empathy.” I felt so alone, angry, misunderstood, & lost during that time. I felt that I was the worst daughter in the world because instead of comforting my father, I chose to lash out.

I won’t go into the nitty-gritty details of all the fights, just know there were a lot, too many, but also know that after each one, we found common ground as best we could. The past can’t be changed, no matter how much you yell & scream, but an understanding of how & why you felt a certain way can always be addressed, brought to light.

The first fight I vividly remember was about Erik. My dad traveled for work my entire life. He missed so many birthdays & anniversaries, but one date in particular still made me angry 35 YEARS later. The day my brother was born. My dad was in Europe somewhere when mama went into labor. I don’t remember how we got to the hospital, but knowing mama, she probably drove us. I was five.

How could I still be so angry, like it happened just days or months ago? I honestly didn’t understand the why, but I did know that it still hurt & that he needed to hear what I was stuck on. Was I mean when I brought it up? 100%. Did I get loud & yell? Yes, I did. I was rude, short, & didn’t allow him to speak until I had gotten everything out. Was that the best way to approach the topic? Hell no! Not even close & yet that’s exactly what I did & when I finished, I cried. I still remember the look of shock on his face & the tears in mama’s eyes.

While I didn’t initiate every fight, I certainly didn’t back down once challenged. Whether he “threw the first punch” or I did, it didn’t matter. So much was being dredged from the depths of that little pond we built in the backyard & the mud covered everything. In a way, we were all determined to not leave a single stone unturned. Do I regret what came to light? No, we needed to talk about it. Do I regret how I broached the subject? Yes.

It was Thanksgiving Day, we were all relaxing in his room, & not paying close attention to the time. I don’t recall why I looked at my phone, but that’s when I realized the overnight aide was late. Mama immediately picked up her phone & called the hospice company to report the problem. Dad kept trying to interrupt her while she was on the phone & she shushed him so she could hear the person on the other end. She was getting more & more agitated, so my son & I tried to distract him.

The fire in mama’s eyes when she hung up was palpable. I was nervous & I knew she wasn’t mad at me, but yikes. My son quickly ran off to his room as mama turned to my dad demanding what was so important that he couldn’t just let her finish her call first. That’s when dad smiled & simply said, “I told her to take the day off to be with her family because it’s Thanksgiving.” “WHAT?!?!” mama & I shouted in unison. He was taken aback by our reaction & confused why we weren’t happy the aide got extra family time on the holiday.

Dad truly thought he had done something really nice for her & for us. He didn’t understand that she was paid to provide care & give us a break, not to just keep him company. It was infuriating. Mama would calm me down, then he would say something else, & she would explode again. It was vicious cycle. Eventually, another aide was sent to the house, but no one slept well that night.

Afterwards, when I started to share my shame & guilt, I discovered that my actions were not as unique as I originally thought. I was not alone in my pain, anger, or feelings, but that doesn’t excuse my actions or make it ok in some perverted way. Attacking him was wrong, but at that moment in time, I didn’t know any other way to express my feelings so that he could or would hear me. In the end, I have to admit that I didn’t bring up my hurt & pain so he could have a clear conscience before he died, no, I brought it up for me. I thought the only way I could process my emotions was to make him understand how I felt.

Now I know that I can’t make anyone do anything, from understand to listen or even respond for that matter. I only have control over myself & my response to every situation in my life. Now I choose forgiveness (for myself or towards others) & I choose to move forward vs staying stuck in the past. I only wish that I had realized that three and a half years ago.

Who is Erika E?

Erika is a 6-year Army vet turned IT geek who drinks copious amounts of coffee & isn’t afraid of struggle. When she’s not working, she loves writing, reading, & NOT arithmetic (but can calculate as needed). Oh, & as you’ll see from her posts, she doesn’t shy away from tough topics.

Got a story you want to share? Email her at erika@mentalgrenade.com

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