It's interesting that it's been so long since my last post (almost one year), yet the topic remains the same. My stepfather is officially on death row. Not the traditional kind where society locks you up and decides that you will spend your remaining __ years in jail. No, this one is much more satisfying. This death row was orchestrated by God, by Karma, by whatever larger force that guides your moral compass (assuming you have one). He was not expected to survive past January 19, 2011 (kind of an arbitrary date), but here we are, February 1, 2011, and he's still alive. Last night, I was watching one of my favourite shows, A&E's "Intervention." I think I'm drawn to the show because I want to understand more about addiction and treatment. I'm also interested to see how families are coping with an addict, and the coping mechanisms of victims of addiction. Having an alcohol addicted father and stepfather, I am thankful on a daily basis that (a) I did not choose a life partner who is also suffering from substance abuse, and that (b) I don't abuse any substances...especially with children of my own. I grapple with whether or not this is an actual genetic disorder/disease. I believe it's a choice. The medical community has built a business around the fact that it's not a choice, but rather predisposed. All I know is that as a kid, when I would see my stepfather down 3 vodka & OJ's before work every morning, it sure as hell looked like a choice to me. Back to "Intervention." Last night featured a woman named "Jenna". She was the third of three kids, and her mother married a man when she was 4, who ended up physically, mentally, and almost sexually abusing her, her sister and brother. The older sister coped by moving out when she was 15. The brother coped by immersing himself in his paintings and moving out at 15 as well, and Jenna began abusing pot, cocaine, and then moved on to opiates, and is now addicted to heroine. After 25 years of marriage, the mother divorced the stepfather because he was having an affair. The mother attended the intervention, and Jenna looked at her and said, "Thanks for taking the time to write the letter, but you have no right..." The mother was heartbroken. I agree with Jenna's stance, though. The mother has absolutely no say, no right, nothing. It infuriates me that, especially as a mother myself, that you would let a complete stranger into your house (ok, a bit dramatic, I know), and allow him/her to mistreat your children and to merely go along with it. Aren't these stupid cows aware that their children will one day grow up?? Not forgive them? Keep them at arm's length? Battle with knowing that their mother/father put their new spouse ahead of the well-being of their own flesh and blood?
As I said, my stepfather is dying. I do feel bad for my mother because I cannot imagine what it must feel like to be watching the man I love dying right before my eyes. I've told her exactly that, but said that he has done this to himself. She cried and said he's in pain and has to have surgery to drain his abdomen, but may bleed to death as a result of this surgery because his platelets are very low. I always reply with a cool, "That's unfortunate." In the late fall, my mother said that she thought things were all "fixed" between me and my stepfather because we hugged last summer and seemed like we were getting along. I told her that yes, we did hug, but that all of my anger had returned, and I couldn't believe that he had mistreated me so for so so long. She answered by saying that maybe I would find it in my heart, but hopefully it wouldn't be too late (i.e. he'd be dead) to forgive him. To that I say - to myself, "Give me an effing break."
Everyone that he mistreated in his life (his own children, my mother, friends, siblings) seemed to have forgiven him and are now rallying with him during these final few months. I have completely removed myself from the situation, and not offered any condolences or sympathies. I'm a good Catholic girl, though. Isn't one of the major tenets of catholicism to forgive? I really don't want to. I believe that once he's dead, a very painful part of my life will be over...for good. I get mad and confused when I observe everyone else putting him on a pedestal. Why are they doing this? Because he's dying?? If he wasn't dying, would they care? I have gone the other way where I care less because he is dying.
In closing, as his impending death comes closer and closer, my internal sense of freedom and relief grows exponentially. Me from the ages of 12 through to now are ready to exhale a giant, long-overdue sigh of relief, and any tears shed are for the self that survived despite the cesspool of shit that surrounded me for so long.
