My father and I have been separated for over two years.
My
father
and
I
have
been
separated
for
over
two
years
.
He was physically violent and emotionally abusive to me throughout my childhood, and I felt that I couldn't forgive him.
He
was
physically
violent
and
emotionally
abusive
to
me
throughout
my
childhood
,
and
I
felt
that
I
could
n't
forgive
him
.
And yet, now he is dying, unconscious and struggling to breathe through an oxygen tube after a major stroke, all I can think of is how much he loved me.
And
yet
,
now
he
is
dying
,
unconscious
and
struggling
to
breathe
through
an
oxygen
tube
after
a
major
stroke
,
all
I
can
think
of
is
how
much
he
loved
me
.
How he would hold my fringe back and kiss me on the forehead before school.
How
he
would
hold
my
fringe
back
and
kiss
me
on
the
forehead
before
school
.
How he bought me a pottery set and roller skates, although we were struggling by on just his salary, and allowed me to skate to school.
How
he
bought
me
a
pottery
set
and
roller
skates
,
although
we
were
struggling
by
on
just
his
salary
,
and
allowed
me
to
skate
to
school
.
How he would play chess and tennis with me, and take me to endless chess and tennis tournaments, even though I never won anything.
How
he
would
play
chess
and
tennis
with
me
,
and
take
me
to
endless
chess
and
tennis
tournaments
,
even
though
I
never
won
anything
.
How he would read the Guardian every day and fill in the quick crossword, but leave a few clues and praise me if I solved them.
How
he
would
read
the
Guardian
every
day
and
fill
in
the
quick
crossword
,
but
leave
a
few
clues
and
praise
me
if
I
solved
them
.
He kept every one of my Guardian columns, and every article I ever had published, even during our many estranged periods.
He
kept
every
one
of
my
Guardian
columns
,
and
every
article
I
ever
had
published
,
even
during
our
many
estranged
periods
.
He gave me a lot of his savings to buy a flat after I became a single mum.
He
gave
me
a
lot
of
his
savings
to
buy
a
flat
after
I
became
a
single
mum
.
And he set my date of birth as the pass code on his phone.
And
he
set
my
date
of
birth
as
the
pass
code
on
his
phone
.
Yet I'm ashamed to say I blamed him, often, for everything: my anorexia, my cutting, my anxiety, my depression....
Yet
I
'm
ashamed
to
say
I
blamed
him
,
often
,
for
everything
:
my
anorexia
,
my
cutting
,
my
anxiety
,
my
depression
...
.
He was there during the tough times, yet all I could think was that the tough times happened because of him, forgetting that the causes of events are complex, and that plenty of people who had happy childhoods have to deal with mental illness and domestic violence too.
He
was
there
during
the
tough
times
,
yet
all
I
could
think
was
that
the
tough
times
happened
because
of
him
,
forgetting
that
the
causes
of
events
are
complex
,
and
that
plenty
of
people
who
had
happy
childhoods
have
to
deal
with
mental
illness
and
domestic
violence
too
.
I even stopped him from seeing my daughter, then three, the thing that brought him most happiness, because I was scared he would hurt her, and that her life would be like mine.
I
even
stopped
him
from
seeing
my
daughter
,
then
three
,
the
thing
that
brought
him
most
happiness
,
because
I
was
scared
he
would
hurt
her
,
and
that
her
life
would
be
like
mine
.
That decision would mean he never spoke to me again.
That
decision
would
mean
he
never
spoke
to
me
again
.
When we spent time together in previous years, my father hugged me a lot yet never talked much.
When
we
spent
time
together
in
previous
years
,
my
father
hugged
me
a
lot
yet
never
talked
much
.
Born in 1930s America during the Depression, he was a man of few words, a silent romantic who signed his empty Valentine's cards to my mother with only his first initial.
Born
in
1930s
America
during
the
Depression
,
he
was
a
man
of
few
words
,
a
silent
romantic
who
signed
his
empty
Valentine
's
cards
to
my
mother
with
only
his
first
initial
.
I know he thought I talked too much; ironically, I never told him what I needed to.
I
know
he
thought
I
talked
too
much
;
ironically
,
I
never
told
him
what
I
needed
to
.
Knowing he was old, I tried to get back in touch several times to make things right, but my mother said he didn't want to hear from me.
Knowing
he
was
old
,
I
tried
to
get
back
in
touch
several
times
to
make
things
right
,
but
my
mother
said
he
did
n't
want
to
hear
from
me
.
I understand that.
I
understand
that
.
Why would he want to hear from the daughter who was never able to forgive him for his mistakes; who brought them up time after time, unable to accept his apologies?
Why
would
he
want
to
hear
from
the
daughter
who
was
never
able
to
forgive
him
for
his
mistakes
;
who
brought
them
up
time
after
time
,
unable
to
accept
his
apologies
?
Who prevented him from seeing his granddaughter?
Who
prevented
him
from
seeing
his
granddaughter
?
Who scolded him for his faults, yet never acknowledged his numerous kindnesses?
Who
scolded
him
for
his
faults
,
yet
never
acknowledged
his
numerous
kindnesses
?
It's much too late now.
It
's
much
too
late
now
.
When I sit by his hospital bed and hold his large wrinkled hand, far too warm, and ask him to squeeze it if he can hear me, he doesn't.
When
I
sit
by
his
hospital
bed
and
hold
his
large
wrinkled
hand
,
far
too
warm
,
and
ask
him
to
squeeze
it
if
he
can
hear
me
,
he
does
n't
.
So I tell him a few of the things I should have told him when he was conscious, though it's hard to say the words: that I love him very much, and that I'm sorry about the estrangement.
So
I
tell
him
a
few
of
the
things
I
should
have
told
him
when
he
was
conscious
,
though
it
's
hard
to
say
the
words
:
that
I
love
him
very
much
,
and
that
I
'm
sorry
about
the
estrangement
.
And it reminds me of what I've known for a long time: that my dad didn't know how to be a father to me when I was young, because his father was abusive to him as a child.
And
it
reminds
me
of
what
I
've
known
for
a
long
time
:
that
my
dad
did
n't
know
how
to
be
a
father
to
me
when
I
was
young
,
because
his
father
was
abusive
to
him
as
a
child
.
His father died estranged from his son; my father is dying estranged from his daughter.
His
father
died
estranged
from
his
son
;
my
father
is
dying
estranged
from
his
daughter
.
I never thought that I'd feel this broken at losing him.
I
never
thought
that
I
'd
feel
this
broken
at
losing
him
.
I fantasise that his eyes will open, and that he will be conscious again for just a few days.
I
fantasise
that
his
eyes
will
open
,
and
that
he
will
be
conscious
again
for
just
a
few
days
.
I will give him a letter thanking him for all the things I have remembered while writing this piece, and apologizing for all the ways I have wronged him.
I
will
give
him
a
letter
thanking
him
for
all
the
things
I
have
remembered
while
writing
this
piece
,
and
apologizing
for
all
the
ways
I
have
wronged
him
.
And when I deliver the letter, I will bring my five-year-old daughter with me, so he can see her happiness and sweetness, and learn that the chain of hurt that has been passed down from generation to generation has finally been broken.
And
when
I
deliver
the
letter
,
I
will
bring
my
five-year-old
daughter
with
me
,
so
he
can
see
her
happiness
and
sweetness
,
and
learn
that
the
chain
of
hurt
that
has
been
passed
down
from
generation
to
generation
has
finally
been
broken
.
My father and I have been separated for over two years. He was physically violent and emotionally abusive to me throughout my childhood, and I felt that I couldn't forgive him. And yet, now he is dying, unconscious and struggling to breathe through an oxygen tube after a major stroke, all I can think of is how much he loved me.  How he would hold my fringe back and kiss me on the forehead before school. How he bought me a pottery set and roller skates, although we were struggling by on just his salary, and allowed me to skate to school. How he would play chess and tennis with me, and take me to endless chess and tennis tournaments, even though I never won anything. How he would read the Guardian every day and fill in the quick crossword, but leave a few clues and praise me if I solved them. He kept every one of my Guardian columns, and every article I ever had published, even during our many estranged periods. He gave me a lot of his savings to buy a flat after I became a single mum. And he set my date of birth as the pass code on his phone.  Yet I'm ashamed to say I blamed him, often, for everything: my anorexia, my cutting, my anxiety, my depression.... He was there during the tough times, yet all I could think was that the tough times happened because of him, forgetting that the causes of events are complex, and that plenty of people who had happy childhoods have to deal with mental illness and domestic violence too.  I even stopped him from seeing my daughter, then three, the thing that brought him most happiness, because I was scared he would hurt her, and that her life would be like mine. That decision would mean he never spoke to me again.  When we spent time together in previous years, my father hugged me a lot yet never talked much. Born in 1930s America during the Depression, he was a man of few words, a silent romantic who signed his empty Valentine's cards to my mother with only his first initial. I know he thought I talked too much; ironically, I never told him what I needed to. Knowing he was old, I tried to get back in touch several times to make things right, but my mother said he didn't want to hear from me. I understand that. Why would he want to hear from the daughter who was never able to forgive him for his mistakes; who brought them up time after time, unable to accept his apologies? Who prevented him from seeing his granddaughter? Who scolded him for his faults, yet never acknowledged his numerous kindnesses?  It's much too late now. When I sit by his hospital bed and hold his large wrinkled hand, far too warm, and ask him to squeeze it if he can hear me, he doesn't. So I tell him a few of the things I should have told him when he was conscious, though it's hard to say the words: that I love him very much, and that I'm sorry about the estrangement. And it reminds me of what I've known for a long time: that my dad didn't know how to be a father to me when I was young, because his father was abusive to him as a child. His father died estranged from his son; my father is dying estranged from his daughter.  I never thought that I'd feel this broken at losing him. I fantasise that his eyes will open, and that he will be conscious again for just a few days. I will give him a letter thanking him for all the things I have remembered while writing this piece, and apologizing for all the ways I have wronged him. And when I deliver the letter, I will bring my five-year-old daughter with me, so he can see her happiness and sweetness, and learn that the chain of hurt that has been passed down from generation to generation has finally been broken.