Endings/Beginnings, part two (read part one)
My father took refuge in his darkened room after my mother was taken away to the psychiatric hospital. Later, we ate in silence in the dim dining room and I remember struggling to see the food on my plate. Perhaps he did not want me to see his face. Days later, my mother returned, for a short time, long enough to celebrate Christmas, and then she fled in my dad's car, heading north to the cottage. She stayed there until the money dried up and the car, neglected and abused, died a slow death, but not before her boyfriend stole it and abandoned it in Rexdale.
My dad is no philosopher, though I think he wishes he was. He has opinions. He offers advice, in a fatherly way. But, it's easy to reject advice when it is steeped in conservative dogma and dispensed far too rigidly. Occasionally, the advice is offered up almost as a plea. "Don't work in a factory," he once advised. That was good advice, but I am sure he felt it might be unavoidable for me, the fourth child in a working class family raised in a small town where the majority of the work is the endless tedium of the factory, the only antidote being cases of beer and liquor.
My mother did not return. She found her way into her mother's house, perhaps the only one who would offer her shelter. Ten years on, she works on an endless stream of seek-a-word puzzles and juvenile crosswords while smoking a chain of cigarettes. Her hair is gray-yellow, a shocking change from the deep black she died it for most of her life.
After some time, my father began to speak with mercenary zeal about dating and meeting someone. He announced that he would not be alone by the same time next year. He was confident. He practised driving to a few restaurants in a neighbouring city, something he had never done before. He has been married to his second wife for 18 years now.
Years later, when A. and I split, turning away from an ill-advised union of the young and the younger (I was the younger), my dad had no advice; instead, he blamed himself and I have never been able to figure out why.
To be continued ...
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5 comments:
Isnt it usually the other way around when parents get divorced the child blames themselves but I have never heard the parent blaming themselves when the child grows up and gets divorced. But glad to hear he did find love again. That is the good news. You will too someday.
As a parent, I get it. He seems like a well intentioned kind of guy.
i've never thought my parents could blame themselves for my divorce - my dad maybe. he did say once i was too much like him, ie, too trusting of people. but i'd rather be that than ultra-suspicious and worrying like my mother.
Parents feel responsible for their children's happiness, at any age. (But what do I know, I've only been a Mom for 4 months).
Sometimes you seem a bit concerned that your blog posts aren't frequent enough or interesting enough but, honestly, I've noticed a very appealing change in the last year or so. You reveal so much more of your inner workings to us ZF. I like learning more about you. Its that scientist thing :-) I need to know what makes people tick!
It seems that your Mom has caused a lot of pain and bafflement for both you and your Dad. That's a tough one. The parental quagmire can be hard to escape!
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