Can we Forgive and NOT Forget, and The phone call(s) for Dad

Stiv, Dad & Me (infant)

Like many father and son dues, my father and I clashed. There were parts of his personality that I didn't agree with, and parts of mine that I could tell he didn't quite understand. Without going into to much details (not right now, maybe for another post...I say this a lot but that just means we have a lot of future conversations a head of us, which is good), these differences raged through me since I was a little kid and continued all the way through adulthood.

It wasn't until I was in the final year of a four year doctoral program that I realized how deep the anger was. I like to think I'm not an angry person, or mean spirited, but like most folks, sometimes we hold on to thoughts a little to tight for reasons that make very little sense, and when we finally sit down and think about them, we realize how unfair the thoughts might have been.

Me & Dad (I might have been 2)

My parents were going through a divorce in the fall of 2009, and my brother and I were trying to handle my father's affairs and such the best we could (I was in Ohio, my brother in Colorado, and my dad in dear old Scotia, New York). The heavy drinking and smoking my father had practiced for his entire adult life had done its damage on his body and brain, so working with him on getting anything accomplished was sometimes challenging, especially when we didn't live in the same state. We held most of our family conferences on the phone, and made decisions from three different states.  Conversations sometimes got heated as stubbornness (something all three of use shared) was lead by our egos, which never really solved anything.

I'd been doing mediation for just under a year, and beginning to investigate Buddhist philosophies, along with running every chance I could between classes, teaching, and trying to finish my 240 page dissertation. During one of my 8 mile runs, engulfed in the warmth an Indian summer afternoon in early October, I started to think about how I had yelled at my father just an hour earlier. YELLED! I 'm not the yelling type, but sadly I was doing it more often with him. It hit me that I had yelled at a man who was going through a divorce after more than 40 years of marriage. He'd lost so many things (including physical and mental capacities), and was about to lose his house (we were selling it), and I yelled at him. Now, did he have an ACTIVE hand in his loses. Yes. His repeated behaviors directly lead to the series of events and loses he was experiencing. But, it wasn't the yelling that bothered me. It was the idea that I was holding him up to a standard, all of my life, that he would never get to, because it wasn't him. I realized how unfair my perceptions of what he SHOULD be like, were not and never would be realistic. Needless to say I cried for 5 out of the 8 miles I ran. Tears that showed me how my ego and need to be right had clouded what my father was able to do. And ego that lead to anger and blindness.

Stiv, Dad, & Me (maybe when I was 6?)

This brings me to the question, can we forget and forgive. Can we forgive, and yet not forget? My father did many things that I question, and down right don't agree with or think were right. Those things I can't forget. But CAN I forgive him, and not for being who he was, but forgive him because I was trying to make him be a person he was never going to be?  That is still a question I struggle with....

Like many fathers and sons, and mothers and daughters, we battle with our differences. Maybe it isn't as simple as forgive and forget, or not forgive and remember. Maybe things take more time than we may like. I don't know. What I know is that when I had to make a series of phone calls on April 20th, 2010, most of the bullshit that my ego had held onto for most of my life, just fade away and was replaced with deep sadness. And I felt loss, like I'm sure my father was feeling when I yelled at him six months early.

Me & Dad (& my first guitar, High School)

Story Time: At 5:30 in the morning on April 20th, 2010, I was semiconscious. I didn't know why I was awake, but I soon figured out. At first I thought Lobo (my all white Husky) had moved on the couch opposite me and that is what woke me up, but good old Lobes was motionless; curled in  a perfect circle, his creamy fur body suspended in mid air in the dark room.

I was gearing up to head to a job interview the following day (04/21) in Minnesota and had fallen asleep on one of our two couches (typical for me, to be honest). In my daze I remembered that before I escaped into the world of dreamland, I had the following thought, "I'm going to get a call from the hospital." Sadly, the one time I didn't want to be right, I was. 

My cell phoned buzzed on the  coffee table a few feet away from my head. I picked it up, in some way knowing what the call was going to be about, even before the compassionate voice on the other end spoke. It was a nurse from the hospital my father had been at for two weeks. She was calling to tell me my father had suffered a massive heart attack during the night and died.  My loose consciousness was now jolted awake. The soft edges of her voice asked if I was okay. I could only say, "Yes," through a cracked voice that reminded me of my early adolescence. I thanked her for calling, several times. I wanted to let her know I felt bad for her. Being a nurse is not an easy gig, and it should be known, nurses run a hospital, not the doctors. Anyway, she allowed me a few seconds of silence to gather myself, I thanked her again, and then she asked me what I wanted to do about conducting an autopsy.  I said something like "yes please." She warmly answered, "That's fine." A few seconds later she said she was sorry for our loss and then we both both hung up.

Me & Dad (Mikey's Wedding, 2001)

It took a few moments to let the gravity of the situation settle in around me. By now Lobo had lifted his head and was in mid stretch (his butt and back legs on the couch while his front paws were on the floor). He ambled his sleepy doggy self over to me, sensing something had changed (my dad always loved Lobo). He smelled my face, and then gave me a little lick that wiped away a few tears (Lobo doesn't have the same personal space concerns that humans do, he will happily go nose to nose with anyone to attain a closer look in the hopes of getting a hardy scratch behind his ears). 

I looked at my phone for a long moment before picking it up again to call my brother. He was two hours behind me in Denver, so it was almost 3:45am where he was, but this news couldn't wait. He answered the phone almost immediately, possibly sleeping light like I was. He listened to me explain the phone call I just received from the hospital. We shared a few moments filled with quiet tears and sniffles before we agreed to talk again in a few hours and start planning. But I had to make another call. A call that would be much harder.

It was just before six am and I had to call my mom. My parents were going through a divorce (like I said above), so she was living on her own (a tough decision she made, however an important and needed one that I give her the utmost credit for... she is without doubt one of THE strongest people I know). I dialed her new home phone number, and told her that her husband of over 40 years, was dead. I don't know how that feels, to know someone for that long and find out they are gone. To share so many things, including parenthood, and then get a call saying that person is no long alive. No longer a part of this life. She cried and repeated two word, "Oh Jerry," (she called my dad Jerry, like most people did). We stayed on the line for several minutes, allowing each other to sob before hanging up. We would be talking SEVERAL times that day, but for now we both needed some silent time to grieve in our own way. 

Stiv, Dad, Me (Stiv's Wedding, 2009)

I made several other calls on day my dad died, mostly to friends and family. But I also had to call  the medical examiner who performed my father's autopsy (a phone call I never imagined I would make,  a conversation I never imaged I'd have, yet it was all real). The medical examiner was as nice as the nurse who had awoken me before dawn, which I appreciated.

The point is, during the entire day of April 20th, 2010, I no longer felt the anger toward my father. The anger was sadness, grief, and loss. For that day I think I truly did forget about my rage along with our many differences and forgave him (and myself) for those differences. 

It's been four year since a caring nurse had to make her phone call to me, which in turn triggered a series of phone calls I made. Some memories remain motionless in time, for as soon as I think about the calls I made, the emotions flood back into my mind and body, and tears flow, like it was happening all over again. 

I  hope you found peace dad. We will go running soon (for some reason I  feel the closest to dad when I run).  With love, you're boy, Scoots