Judgement, from the ones who love us, from those we trust most:
I was angry at my Father when he was ill, and supremely angry when he died.
Then, I was guilty about feeling so damn mad. So I thought I had no right to express the other things I was feeling: pain, sadness, confusion, despair. I thought the fact of my anger cancelled out my right to grieve. He was a great man. I know many daughters think that about their fathers. I was lucky to have a father who really touched many lives. He saved hundreds of lives in his career as a general surgeon. He was generous and giving, to a fault. He was brave, determined and strong. He was a hero to many, and to me.
It's difficult to be angry at such a man.
Especially as he is dying.
I stepped out of his room because I heard that people near death can sense the emotions and thoughts of those around them. I didn't want him to know of my rage. So many times when it welled up inside me, I walked out of the room, and stood by an open window in the hospital, looking out at the crows and kites circling in the sky, at the distant brick Synagogue on the horizon, at the tops of the rain trees in the hospital grounds. I felt the cooler outside air brushing my cheeks. I tried to breathe, I tried to cancel out what was burning through me.
Then when I felt the other more 'normal' feelings, I went back inside.
Then, when he died, at one point I felt relief. Relief! I thought: I do not have to be scared of 'it' any more. Sweet.
I tried to voice this to my Mother. I know exactly how it must have sounded. I can't blame her for the reaction she had. Except, I kind of do.
Later that day, I heard her recounting our conversation to my Aunt. "And then she said, 'I did not ask for this!"
I felt cheated, and judged, and guilty and inadequate.
I was already guilty, but then I felt even guiltier. Angry at myself, furious at her.
I haven't been able to show her my pain since. Not one tear.
She is the person I love most in this world. More guilt, more anger.
I think I need to get completely drunk.
I was angry at my Father when he was ill, and supremely angry when he died.
Then, I was guilty about feeling so damn mad. So I thought I had no right to express the other things I was feeling: pain, sadness, confusion, despair. I thought the fact of my anger cancelled out my right to grieve. He was a great man. I know many daughters think that about their fathers. I was lucky to have a father who really touched many lives. He saved hundreds of lives in his career as a general surgeon. He was generous and giving, to a fault. He was brave, determined and strong. He was a hero to many, and to me.
It's difficult to be angry at such a man.
Especially as he is dying.
I stepped out of his room because I heard that people near death can sense the emotions and thoughts of those around them. I didn't want him to know of my rage. So many times when it welled up inside me, I walked out of the room, and stood by an open window in the hospital, looking out at the crows and kites circling in the sky, at the distant brick Synagogue on the horizon, at the tops of the rain trees in the hospital grounds. I felt the cooler outside air brushing my cheeks. I tried to breathe, I tried to cancel out what was burning through me.
Then when I felt the other more 'normal' feelings, I went back inside.
Then, when he died, at one point I felt relief. Relief! I thought: I do not have to be scared of 'it' any more. Sweet.
I tried to voice this to my Mother. I know exactly how it must have sounded. I can't blame her for the reaction she had. Except, I kind of do.
Later that day, I heard her recounting our conversation to my Aunt. "And then she said, 'I did not ask for this!"
I felt cheated, and judged, and guilty and inadequate.
I was already guilty, but then I felt even guiltier. Angry at myself, furious at her.
I haven't been able to show her my pain since. Not one tear.
She is the person I love most in this world. More guilt, more anger.
I think I need to get completely drunk.
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