I FEEL EMPTY TODAY
I feel empty today. My motivation to do anything – including my usual compulsion to write – is not there. There is a reason for my sudden, apathetic state of mind – my father's words.
As you might, or might not, be aware, the reason I am in California is my dad...
My childhood in England, for want of a better word, was brutal. I shall not elaborate too much further on that point – suffice to say that I from an early age was raised solely by my father who was, for the most of the time, indifferent to me. My mother chose to leave when I was age eight and the rest of that story I have not the strength of mind to relay into words.
One detail resonates in my mind to this very day. When I was thirteen I owned one pair of shoes. My dad decided, after some prompting from a neighbor, that another was needed. At the shoe shop the salesperson was surprised to discover that my only pair of shoes was two or three sizes too small. I had stomped down the back of the shoe, and was wearing them clog style. Now, you might think that this was due to a lack of money. It was not, whereas we weren't rich, my father had a good job. He just never noticed, or bothered. Now in fairness to him, he lost his father at age six. In fact he was with him when he died, and they could not find him for an entire day, as he hid.
My father was made redundant a few years later – as the late seventies early eighties was a difficult time in England. My father was offered a position here in California, and he accepted, and so a new chapter in my life began. My father did not want to bring me, but explained that he felt obligated. It is nice to be wanted isn't it?
The first year or two was difficult; I had a hard time adjusting to life here. Then it happened – my dad fell in love. He was very happy. They moved in with each other. I considered moving back to England, and almost did. I spent months at a time back there. Yet, deep down, I know that I wanted my father's love. I returned to California - to my small apartment, and attempted to start a life for myself. It was about that time, Eddie Valentino, my first dog came into my sad world – and it truly was the first time I understood what love meant. That dog saved me on so many different levels. My father and I had a cordial relationship – his new wife resented me being about – and my father began to spend more time with her older children.
Speed forward nine years – I met the love of my life, Sarah, who was is married, but the relationship was physically and mentally abusive and she had made the decision to leave him. We were engaged on the first date – and moved in together a few weeks later – we have never looked back. Oh, and she also brought her eighteen year old son into my life.
My father's wife liked Sarah, but she always still was obviously bothered by my dad's baggage. After an incident where my older brother came to visit, and confronted my dad, he chose not to speak to either of us for close to two years – that was heart breaking.
A few years back, his wife died. I managed to worm my way back into his life – and even made some inroads. There was a lovely time I found for him a copy of a book that he used to read as a child – and a few rare moments that he actually showed emotion.
So what happened yesterday? We went to visit him, as we do every Sunday. He is almost eighty now, and still works three days a week.
We had invited him for Thanksgiving, at the beginning of November, and he said that he wanted to spend it with his wife's oldest daughter (who lost her husband three years ago suddenly). Fair enough I thought, But I told him that Christmas was to be at our house.
I must preface this by saying, that I invite the daughter every year to our house on Christmas – last year she accepted – but half hour before she was supposed to arrive, she called and cancelled.
Well yesterday I was visiting with my father, and we told him what time we expected him on Christmas, and told him that we knew he wanted to spend time with his step-daughter, but dinner was to be at two.
"Oh no," he said, "That is impossible; I will not be coming, as I will be with my daughter all day... she needs me."
His voice was cold, harsh, and cruel. He thinks that I am being selfish. I lost it – I broke into tears – I felt the same as I did when I heard that my mother died. I simply lost it – and promptly left.
My wife stayed for a few minutes, and tried to reason with him. She explained that we would love it if he just made a visit for an hour or so.
My wife's family will be there – although due to a familiar division – not in abundance as usual.
I will bounce back – I truly will – I always do. I am truly blessed to have my loving wife, a fine thirteen year old son, who has my name and each and every day I tell him I love him, my two adoring dogs, and my many friends... I also have my writing.
My brother says there is a reason I write horror – it is better to write about what one knows.
I had a very rough night last night – and forgive the awkwardness of these words, I barely slept. I just felt that writing down my feelings would be somehow therapeutic... and indeed it was.