A little while ago, a song played on the radio, that I have not heard in years. And as songs do, it unlocked a part of my life, many moon cycles ago, overgrown and hidden away by branches of nostalgia. I started thinking about my father. Next year, I will be able to say I lived with him 23 years alive and 23 deceased. This might seem like a random, insignificant observation, but I understand…you did not know my dad…
I grew up differently than other children in my generation. My mother was deeply religious and in church every single Sunday of her life. She was also weirdly knowledgeable in witchcraft, magic, and spells…My father, on the other hand, rarely attended church. I can genuinely only remember 5 times it happened – 3 weddings and 2 funerals. It’s not that he did not believe in God, but he was strongly against the church and their opinion on how you are allowed to praise god. In his opinion, all churches had something that would be frowned upon, from the clothes you wear, the songs you sing, the compulsory tithe and size of your offerings every Sunday. He was also into hydroponics, studying Lunar cycles, Astrology, and Numerology to name but a few! I also grew up quite liberal in an otherwise stoic and conservative environment. We would for example go dining with friends at the only restaurant where homosexuality was not frowned upon because some of my parents best friends were gay and that would be the only place where they could be themselves.
I am however not delusional or jaded. I also remember he was an absolute asshole most of the time, physically abused my mother and a raging alcoholic. And no, he wasn’t one of those Neander fall, good for nothing’s. He was head of programming for one of our biggest airlines, competitive, driven and stressed. I desperately worked hard for his approval, but compliments and praise were extremely rare. I remember him criticizing my technique of CPR a couple of days after my mother died…Both my parents were workaholics and from an early age I learned that success depends on the effort you put into it. Sadly, my Dad passed away, believing my efforts never matched my potential, which resulted in me becoming a workaholic, chasing an always eluding higher goal…
Like I said, I grew up differently but instead of being scarred, I’m am grateful and wish I could have a conversation with my Dad today and just tell him how everything he did, contributed to my good qualities. Teaching me chess at age 4 and pushing me to do basic coding at age of 6 instead of doing dad things always made me feel like I was robbed of a normal father/daughter relationship. But when I was in Rehab sobbing with tears and pain, it was my dad’s voice inside my me, egging me on and telling me to fight harder, while the therapist would say “Don’t push yourself so hard”
I believe that if I were anyone else’s daughter, I would not even have awoken from my coma. Doctors told my family I would be in a vegetative state forever and they were in the process of deciding how to care for me. I wish I could’ve told my Dad how I believe his values saved me. I wish I could’ve told him, that I still have to meet a man with his ethic, integrity, drive and ambition. I wish I could’ve told him in the living years…
