Where The Hell Have You Been?

Lordy, I can't believe so much time has passed since my last post. Apologies all around. I have been dealing with some serious issues of late. My father has been in ICU for almost 5 weeks now and is back on a ventilator. I haven't heard his voice or seen him awake in all that time. In the past, he's always dodged every bullet that's come his way and is one of those larger-than-life personalities who you never really think will one day be rendered completely helpless. Until now. My siblings and I will be meeting with the doctors this week to ask the really hard questions and checking with his attorney as to whether he has a living will. He has always said he wouldn't want to be kept alive by machines.

I have had a life of incredible contrasts with my dad. As a child, I thought he was the strongest, smartest, greatest dad alive. Whenever he'd call me in from playing outdoors, he'd always start singing, "Here she comes, Miss America!" as I ran towards him (I was much cuter back then). But as I grew, I found him to be overly critical of me and everyone else. He had a long fuse but when it ran out, his temper was frightening. Nothing was ever quite good enough for him and he would always be sure to let us know how we failed to measure up - even as adults. So many years later, that disapproval and criticism are still in my head, much as I try to cover it over with more positive thoughts. There have been many family dramas that found us on completely opposite sides of the fence as well. And through it all, I maintained my devotion and loyalty to him; although some boundaries were eventually set up to maintain my sanity.

He is not without his good points. Over his lifetime, he and my mother have always been actively involved in their community and very philanthropic; making legions of friends along the way. He always provided for us in material ways and taught us how to value the more important things in life - even if the way he went about teaching them was sometimes flawed.

So how does all this relate to a weight loss blog? Well, while sitting at his bedside, not so much. But in the larger sense, it has everything to do with it. So much of what I think about myself - my doubts about my capabilities and worthiness - have their roots in how he treated me and had so little faith in me. Make no mistake - parents have incredible power over their children during the formative years, and I've not been a perfect one by a long shot either. I realize as I write this there is a fine line between making excuses for living beneath my potential and calling reality by its real name, and probably a whole lot of gray in between.

In any event, after all is said in done, I still love my father and forgive him for everything. I can't say I've made total peace with it all. There are always the conversations I wished I'd been brave enough to have with him but was afraid they would only have made things worse, as was often the case. For all the troubles we've had, I still wish I could talk with him, hug him and hear him laugh. And if I never get the chance to speak with him again, I take comfort in knowing that my last words to him were, "I love you". And in the end, it's really only love that matters anyway.