Tellin it like it is. I think.

Anger. It has such power over the person who is consumed with this emotion. It can take hold and remain for a short period of time or it can linger in a person for years at a time. If we're not careful, it may evolve into a way of life, seep into our mannerisms . . . Since my mother's passing, I have had to deal with this particular emotion in many ways. I've directed it at undeserved people, I've internalized it for days/weeks/months, I've been undeserved receiver.

As the nine year mark approaches, I decided to confront the anger issue head on with regard to my father. This has been an incredibly difficult year in which he has had to adjust to many changes. And, along the way, his decision has been to strike out in anger towards me (and sometimes my other half) at times of his choosing. My father has a tendency of not hearing me, literally, or he chooses to ignore the words that I choose so carefully to say, especially with respect to the matter of my mother. So, I turned to the only other medium I could and wrote (well, typed) him an email expressing how I felt.

My bottom line message to my father was that his choosing to treat me with anger as he chooses is just unacceptable, that he does not act in accordance with the words that he says, that he knowingly sets people up for his manipulation, that he cannot make choices and then lash out in anger towards others because of the choices he makes. That he consistently states that we are family and should act as such, however he is incredibly guilty of not acting like he is part of a family.

It may not have been the most love-oozing letter to my father, but it was not intended that way. It was intended to express to him that I will not be his fall guy, so to speak, anymore for his anger. That I will not allow him to ignore questions, withhold information then act in anger accusing me that I do not care about his well-being. That I will not accept responsibility for his decisions that he later wants to be upset about. That it is his choice to not join my other half, myself and my other half's family for Thanksgiving, despite numerous invitations, and he lost his right to be angry thinking that no one wants to spend Thanksgiving with him.

This all came out in an effort to elicit particular important information regarding an upcoming event with respect to my father. Despite repeated requests for further details, including my long email this morning, he still refuses to divulge specific details. Rather I get the vaguest of information. Why I did this I have no idea. Oh yeah, it is so that he recognizes that I will not accept his behavior. And to have it in black and white that he was asked about certain things numerous times. It seems like that should be unnecessary, but it is given that he has an interesting way of recollecting things in which he is consistently right, even though he completely twists, inserts, omits, etc. words.

Don't get me wrong, I love my father. He's my father. And I understand that a part of him insists on remaining angry because my mother is no longer with us. There are days, sometimes continuous days, in which I am flat out angry. There are days when I direct that anger towards underserving folks. As much as I can, I try to keep myself in check and explain my disposition and apologize. My father . . . he is unable to do this. I understand he is my father. But, as a human being and as a daughter, I am entitled to some respect and consideration.

So, I told it how I see it. How I feel. And . . . as usual . . . I felt about this small because (1) my father again ignored my request for detailed information and (2) said nothing else with respect to my thought out letter.

Honestly, I don't know why I'm surprised or the slightest disappointed.

Polar Opposites

A grounding, centering weekend describes this past weekend. It was a family filled weekend. And being with everyone reminded me just how important family has become to me in spite of the fact that I think my own immediate family has forgotten how to be a cohesive one.

Let me explain . . . my other half’s family and my mother’s side of the family give you the warm fuzzies and loved feeling. Then, there’s my father who seems to be incapable of being anywhere close to warm fuzzy or even sincere at times. It’s unbelievable to me that I am a product of my mother and father when I cannot even understand the things my father does or says of late.

This weekend was the second visit we had with my aunt and uncle. The drive was slow, the weather was horrible and we were late. But that didn’t change the demeanor in her house once we arrived. My aunt, uncle, my cousin along with his wife and two daughters welcomed us in with open arms (and hungry stomachs). We chatted away the night over good food and dessert (it was my cousin’s b-day) and enjoyed just being with family. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

And this is where I realized I am home when I’m with them. At various points during dinner, my aunt (my mother’s youngest sister) and I talked about the wedding. And she said to me that one of her gifts to me was to take me to get my qi pao (traditional Chinese dress). She knew that my cousin had offered for me to wear hers as the “something borrowed”, but my aunt wanted otherwise saying to me that since my mother isn’t here, she wants to take care of that aspect of the wedding attire. Then, she told me that she would host my bridal shower for me in NY (which is great because most of the families live in NY). And right then is when I lost it, I am crying at the dinner table because I really did not expect my family to rally around. Though I’m not sure why given that it is a wedding and my mother is not here.

The next day, I realized that my aunt and uncle are the ones who define my family. They are the ones who you can see I learned everything from (how could it not be? I mean, my aunt and mother were sisters). All signs lead to them when you want to have that “home” feeling. They are good people with such incredibly positive energy. There is no way you would ever doubt their words. Then, there’s my father. And, in fact, we spoke of my father while at breakfast with them on Sunday because of everything that has been happening (I don’t even know how to explain his conduct of late). While we were talking I felt relief because in their own way, both indirect and direct, they were letting my other half to not take anything personally and that really, the problem lies in my father and no one else. And through other means, the bottom line that was shared with us was to make sure that we take care of ourselves and not really worry too much about.

After leaving my aunt’s, with a heavy heart, I realized that I come from two totally different worlds now. And I identify and feel more comfortable with my mother’s side of the family than I do with my own father. On one hand, there is warmth, love and positivity. On the other hand, there is anguish, anger and manipulation. I am filled with such happiness when I am with my aunt, cousins, etc. And when I’m with my father, I’m filled with trepidation, frustration and I cry. A lot.

Some days I wonder just how will this all resolve itself because I cannot continue to have such toxicity when it comes to my father.

What's in a name

Ma.
Mommy.
Momma.
Mom.
Mother.

So many ways in which we address our mother. Clearly, I have not used any of those titles since September 11, 2000.

Earlier in my present relationship, the choices were pretty simple as to how I would address my other half's parents - Mr and Mrs or first names. I still hesitated with that because his parents and I never really had a conversation about how I would address them. I'll never know whether it just didn't bother them or they didn't find the need to bring it up in conversation, but I don't recall ever hearing about the fact that I didn't call them anything. In fact, it was my other half who would tease me every now and then about the fact that I wasn't really calling them anything.

So now, for just shy of six months, I've been struggling with how to address my other half's folks. My other half has brought it up more than once, his mother has jokingly brought it up ("You have to call me something!?") and his father and I have talked about it twice. I told my other half that I just don't know what I feel comfortable with. I laughed when his mother made her passing comment/joke. And with his father, I expressed a little about how I wasn't sure what to call them, and he said to just use what felt comfortable - first names, Mom/Dad, whatever.

It's understandable, to everyone, as to why I have difficulty with the use of a maternal address. I saw it as a betrayal to my mother to address someone else with a maternal address because she isn't here to give her opinion or thoughts. And, really, I just didn't know how to reconcile that in my mind. Also, I have never seen my mother address anyone other than her own mother with a maternal address. Then again, I never saw her interact with my father's stepmother. Ever.

I struggled with the paternal address, because, well, my father is still alive. I don't want to hurt his feelings or insult him by using a father-like term for someone else. So, you see . . . I was in quite a predicament.

But, then I thought about it and had a breakthrough this past weekend - Mom and Pop. When my mother was alive, I usually called her Ma. And Pop works because I've never addressed my father directly or indirectly as Pop. So, these two addresses are, in fact, unique to my other half's parents and for me as well. It doesn't insult my own parents and after trying it out this weekend, it feels natural. Pop definitely felt comfortable and lo and behold, when I used Mom, I wasn't struck by lightning or something overly-exaggerated that I thought would happen. And to see the reaction from both of them . . . I knew I made the right decision.

I am grateful and appreciative that my other half, his mother and father handled and approached the predicament I was in with humor, compassion and patience. And, to be honest, I don't think my mother would feel betrayed by my decision or the slightest bit dismayed. In fact, I know she would be smiling knowing how deliberate I was with my decision with regard to my other half's parents . . . a decision that may have been taken lighter were I not my mother's daughter.