Forgiveness

Another day and another trip driving my father home. Another car ride listening to him regal another slurred story of his past. The stench of alchol strong in the car.

I'd try to forgive my dad for becoming this weak, pathetic, whimpering drunk, but its such a difficult thing to do. As a kid I remembered him as the loud, mean, abusive drunk, the one that fought with everyone, his wife, us kids, everyone. And now, this guy. Boy, what a choice for a father.

I want to forgive him for what he's become, but I can't.

A family meeting is called to outline the issues dad's alcholism has caused. The stress on his body from it, the dangers it causes, the problems in managing his addiction. We realise that one person has to manage his medication and alter where possible the intake of alcohol. We know that his manipulation of my sisters to get his 'fix' is a big problem and I foolishly I think I can handle this. Little do I realise how taxing the weight of this responsiblity truly is.

Months pass and my resolve is worn down with his insessant need. His constant whining, his demands and his relentless desire for alcoholic oblivion. In one final arguement, he switches like quicksilver to whatever emotion is required to get me to falter. Anger, Apathy, Disappointment, Propitiation. He employs them all over and over again. My temper rises and I can stand it no longer, I run from the house. I literally, run away from home and as I leave, crying, frustrated and angry I tell myself I can't deal with it anymore. I can't handle him or this situation any longer and I run.

I'm gone the weekend, hiding away at my old place. My sister knowing this, takes over for those two days. Sunday night at 6pm she calls to tell me his 'complaining' again. Her voice is flat but irritation is evident in her tones. I get her to put dad on the phone and what I hear next will haunt me for a long long time.

In the first five seconds I can tell my dad is seriously sick. His breathing is laboured and the panic in his voice clearly evident. Shocked into action I tell my dad to hang on, I'm on my way. I reassure him I'll be there in a few minutes. Once the phone is down I fly into action calling over my shoulder to my ex to look after the kids, dad's really sick.

Racing down the motorway I can't help but cry tears of guilt. I wonder how could I have been so evil? Why didn't I call earlier to check on him? How can a daughter be so unforgiving? There is no end to the berating. When I arrive I help dad to the car and we are at the doctors as soon as I can get us there. They feel there is nothing they can do and send us on to the hospital. Dad rides alone in the ambulance as I need to bring my car. I assure him I am right behind him.

There's always a long wait at the hospital. Whether in a waiting room, or in Observation, you always wait. Dad was serious enough to be taken directly into Observation and set up. By the time I get there, dad is tugging and pulling at the wires plastered to his body. He wants to go to the toilet, he wants to go home, he wants to leave. I have to convince him to stay put. He's being monitored and has to use a bottle to go in. It's demeaning to him, but I can't help that and help him use it anyway. His breathing is still hard and he is feint. His alcoholism has affected his short term memory. He forgets why he's there. He argues, he complains. It's more of the same old shit but I repeat myself over and over. A broken record. "Dad, you're sick you have to stay and I'm staying with you." Gone are the thoughts of leaving him, my frustrations take a back seat to his current needs.

Dad's taken to his ward and settled in. He's tired. I'm tired and I prepare his bits and pieces for the night. Look to where I'll settle myself for the night. The nurse enters and asks me about dad, takes his temp, bp and smiles at him. She leaves again.

The mantra he chanted downstairs starts again. He tells me he's tired and no good again and again. There is something in his manner that speaks of defeat. It crosses my mind that he's giving up. He continues to speak out loud and tells me he's thankful I came, that I'm the only one that cares. The guilt from running away weighs heavily on me yet again.

The nurse comes back with a 24hour watch. Dad and I are both surprised by this, but they assure us both that its hospital policy to have a trained nurse on hand for a person in his condition. They tell me to go home to get some rest. I look to dad, he looks at me, then away. I know he doesn't want me to go but he tells me go home. I assure him I'll be back in the morning. Dad reaches his hand out behind my head to pull me closer, tilting my head he kisses my forehead. 'Okay' he says simply. I tell him I love him, he tells me he loves me back. I rush out of the ward, my eyes are blurred with tears.

By the time I arrived the next morning, dad was showered, shaved and had breakfast. He still looked tired and was over being in the hospital. We talked about the rest of his night and how the morning went. I brought him fruit and a paper from the shop downstairs. He knows I have to leave for work and asks when I will be bringing the boys. I tell him I'll be back later in the afternoon with them. It doesn't happen. Exhausted from the day before I went home after work for a catch up sleep. I woke around 9pm and figured it was too late.

At 11pm, another call. This time my younger sister. The hospital called just minutes before to tell her that dad had passed away.

I walked into his room and stood next to his body, layed out on his hospital bed, the first time I'd seen dad lay on his back in a long long time. I placed my hand in his still warm one, my only thought... 'please forgive me dad'.

I'd like to think that in our last embrace, the underlying statement of 'please forgive me for leaving you' was conveyed. That when I said I loved him, he knew I meant it. I'd like to think that when he said it back his underlying message was 'I'm glad and proud of you'. I'd like to think that he didn't die thinking I'd lied to him about bringing the boys. I'd like ,to think that when he died he was happy to go, that he wasn't scared. 

I sat with him with him a while, before my sisters arrived and I thought 'well dad you can finally rest now'. Then, it struck me. 'I can rest now too' and the flood of tears gushed forth. I couldn't hold back. As the tears flowed my frustration, my anger dissipated to nothing. It meant nothing. The times I thought my dad to be selfish, his passing was in fact.. selfless, because in doing so, dad set us both free.