You remember the last scene of the wizard of oz?
They're terrified. This mystical, scary wizard with the
booming voice was so scary, so intimidating.
~A bit of an asshole really.
Then the curtain is pulled away to reveal a weak, feeble old man
and suddenly,
we feel sorry for him.
I've spent most of my life hating him, avoiding him, fearing him. After years, I saw him. His face was pale. Bloated. Distorted. He shuffles now. Short, slow steps. He has a cane. A walker hidden in the closet. He's slumps over. A byproduct of deteriorating discs. His thick brown hair has been replaced by sickly, thin tufts that remind me of a baby bird. His arms are blotchy with discolored bluish-red patches. His fingernails crusty and falling apart. He sits in chairs with arms only, so he can get back up, albeit painfully slow. His belly is protruding, presumably from the colostomy bag that resides somewhere inside his collared linen shirt.
Dad?
Dying is hard to see. I didn't know if I could successfully cope. I haven't experienced it ever before. I would be scared for anyone in such a state. But this was Dad. Seeing him in such a debilitated state was. Awful. And. Confusing.
Why does illness get to wipe away 60+ years of being an asshole? Although I do feel sorry for him. I have since childhood. I can avoid him because I live on the other side of the country. But the question is, should I? My Mom is his full-time nurse for years now - all on her own. I don't know if I resent him - I think I do. I remember him saying he loved me but it doesn't mean he has to like me. I was 10.
Yes, Dad was aggressive, blustery, nasty and mean. But this man - made me.
Sad.
Nobody is born an asshole, true - but it didnt make it easier for us growing up. At some point, you have to , take responsibility for your behavior, and improve yourself - seek help. Therapy, books, conversation - whatever.... IntrospectionI tried to separate myself completely at 18 - haven't been "home" since...
He faded away...
They're terrified. This mystical, scary wizard with the
booming voice was so scary, so intimidating.
~A bit of an asshole really.
Then the curtain is pulled away to reveal a weak, feeble old man
and suddenly,
we feel sorry for him.
I've spent most of my life hating him, avoiding him, fearing him. After years, I saw him. His face was pale. Bloated. Distorted. He shuffles now. Short, slow steps. He has a cane. A walker hidden in the closet. He's slumps over. A byproduct of deteriorating discs. His thick brown hair has been replaced by sickly, thin tufts that remind me of a baby bird. His arms are blotchy with discolored bluish-red patches. His fingernails crusty and falling apart. He sits in chairs with arms only, so he can get back up, albeit painfully slow. His belly is protruding, presumably from the colostomy bag that resides somewhere inside his collared linen shirt.
Dad?
Dying is hard to see. I didn't know if I could successfully cope. I haven't experienced it ever before. I would be scared for anyone in such a state. But this was Dad. Seeing him in such a debilitated state was. Awful. And. Confusing.
Why does illness get to wipe away 60+ years of being an asshole? Although I do feel sorry for him. I have since childhood. I can avoid him because I live on the other side of the country. But the question is, should I? My Mom is his full-time nurse for years now - all on her own. I don't know if I resent him - I think I do. I remember him saying he loved me but it doesn't mean he has to like me. I was 10.
Yes, Dad was aggressive, blustery, nasty and mean. But this man - made me.
Sad.
Nobody is born an asshole, true - but it didnt make it easier for us growing up. At some point, you have to , take responsibility for your behavior, and improve yourself - seek help. Therapy, books, conversation - whatever.... IntrospectionI tried to separate myself completely at 18 - haven't been "home" since...
He faded away...
