Tired, angry and emotional

My brother mentioned my father last week. Even the mere mention of him is sufficient to impact on me. It was something about some gold rings that were once mine but I think he has now given to my brother. Or perhaps he has passed them to my brother to give to me. I'm not really clear about it as my brother isn't the most communicative at the best of times and unfortunately, hearing that the subject was my father left me feeling stressed before the conversation started so I was only taking in half of what was said. The rings weren't mine any more anyway. I foolishly sold them when I was a teenager so I have no right to them at all. I'd forgotten they ever existed until the subject was raised last week. And as always when I am reminded of his existence, I am left with an uncomfortable feeling and a fear of whether he will appear and I’ll be expected to make polite conversation when all I want to do is scream at him.

Anyway, it should have come as no surprise that last night I had a dream in which my father appeared. I think the last time he visited my house was a few days after Al died so I was wondering what he wanted when he appeared.

He said that his brother was terminally ill. I haven’t seen this man for over twenty years so although it was sad to get this news, I was still surprised that he would pay me a visit to tell me this. However, he then said that it was related to a hereditary condition. One that I, or my children, could have inherited. The children had a 1 in 6 chance of having it. I don’t remember even asking about my risk but I grabbed my laptop and went straight to Google to get some info. He talked as I Googled and said that the condition would be treatable if caught early enough. Then he let slip that he’d known for over a year but hadn’t approached me because, “Well I always seem to get it wrong with you – I always seem to say or do the wrong thing . . . but if it’s any consolation, your brother and sisters and all of their children are all tested and fine.”

I was stunned. (I had no idea that this was a dream - right then nothing could be more real.) So this man had known for a year that my kids were at risk of a life-threatening condition that could be treated if caught early enough, but had instead delayed telling me and possibly delayed getting potentially life-saving treatment. He had chosen to say nothing because he was embarrassed that he might say the wrong thing. My youngest was sat next to me. She looked up, her face etched with fear. “Mum am I going to die?”

I woke up shaking although I knew that it had just been a dream.

But it was so representative of my relationship with my father and family. If he can, he will avoid me but at the same time, will tell my family that he just can’t seem to say the right thing to me – yet somehow this is always interpreted as my fault. My reaction to his lack of compassion and tact is seen as wrong because . . .  well I don’t know why. I think there is an expectation that I should be more accommodating, that I should sympathise with him for his lack of ability to see that his comments and actions border on the inhumane. However, surely no one should be expected to sympathise with the man who has just stabbed them? And his actions almost always feel like that to me.

When Al died, my father’s only observation was that I should be more understanding and have some compassion for my ex-husband because he was suffering. This was in response to him learning that my ex had behaved in the most abusive and appalling way towards me. There was no compassion or understanding that I might be suffering – just an expectation that I should ‘be strong’ and simply cope with whatever was put my way because others were suffering. And the irony is that none of my family seem to be able to comprehend that these expectations are completely unreasonable. I’m expected to stand alone and unsupported. The thing is that they are completely oblivious to this - they simply don’t see it. Or if they do, they choose not to acknowledge it.

And as much as they are pretending not to see/blind to the fact that I’m crumbling, they expect me to calmly, rationally, and gently support those who are suffering – regardless of how abusive they are towards me. All this with no acknowledgement that I’m expected to do this whilst sinking into quicksand. Just sad, judgemental shakes of their heads whilst saying, “Well if you can’t be bothered to be nice and support those in greater need than you, then what can we do? Get in touch when you’re ready to behave in a way we can accept.”

I’m tired, angry and emotional today – and it all stemmed from a dream. It seems utterly daft to get wound up because of a dream. It wasn’t real. I know that. The thing is, that dream encapsulated so much of what is wrong. No wonder I’m knackered.