The Rear View Mirror

It happens without fail, every time I see the Dementia care home fade away in the rear view mirror we sit in silence as I have an internal sigh of relief and at the same time feel the anger well up.

Then I’ll hear Vickie say, “Are you OK”, she knows I’m not and she always wants to remind me she is there and to snap me into the present.  As always, I’ll say “yeah” with us both knowing that I am not.

Dad has now been in the home for seven years, while mum has been there just over two, it is a good home, they are safe and well looked after.

You may be thinking that I’m angry because of the disease they are both experiencing, I chose my words here as they are not suffering.  The dementia they both have has left them now comfortable in their day to day existence and all the pressures and anxieties of living have left them now.  So no I’m not angry about the disease, I have a very pragmatic approach to it, after all we will all die of something, we will not go on forever.  I am angry with them and yep, it is triggered by our childlessness, I also understand if you are thinking I’m not being very benevolent, I get that.  But let me explain.

Mum and dad did give us nearly all of what we needed to exist, a home, food on the table and support of sorts.  Dad worked hard all his life, to provide the funds for all of this, whilst mum managed the home front.  In essence a typical old school family unit.  Something that nowadays is not something you often see.

There wasn’t much laughter in our home, my dad was always a worrier and this gave him the appearance of being a grumpy bugger.  I also believe now with hindsight that my mum was depressed for most of her life.  As I look back it was as if she was just going through the motions.

Once we emigrated to Australia, which was the best decision I think they ever made, life was more about existence than enjoyment.  Not once did we go on a family holiday, so we have no memories of frolicking around as a family enjoying themselves.  We didn’t do family picnics, I think once or twice we might have gone to the beach, but that memory is so distant that I’m not even sure if I’m making that up!

Support was there, or sorts, a basic support for our immediate needs, but beyond that it was severely lacking.  My sister and I often talk about how when wanting to do some out of school activities, examples are boxing for me and Windsurfing for her.  We would get a response from my dad similar to “Well, how are you going to get to that, I’m working so I can’t help you”

Never was there a thought of …… How can I make this happen for my children?  Our mother never learnt to drive… why I’ll get there later…. But never was there a thought of, maybe I should learn to drive so I can help you!

So, we learnt very quickly, if we needed anything extra, it was up to us.  This manifested into us both being very independent, we learnt there is no point asking for help, so we didn’t and still don’t.  I for one find it very hard to ask people for help and at the same time I have to confess to not being tolerant of those that don’t help themselves…. Just ask my wife.  But I’m trying to change and I challenge myself over this, I think, maybe I’m the odd one out, maybe I’m the abnormal  one.

We learnt that our needs were not important.

Further to this as I've been away from the family unit for so long, I’ve been able to analyse even more family dynamics.  I realise that I have a love hate relationship with books, let me explain;

Reading and books are important, it was and continues to be, although times are changing, the way in which we convey knowledge, preserve history and give a lot of people enjoyment. For me, they are a reminder of my lack of importance in my father’s life.  Way back when I was a preteen, my dad started to write novels.  My early memories were filled with him hammering away at a manual typewriter with the occasional swearing rant when he made a spelling mistake.  He would pump out manuscript after manuscript and that was his focus, when he wasn’t working.

If he wasn’t writing a book he was reading a book and that lasted all through to my mid twenties, so my entire growing up years were filled with my dad’s attention being on a Book.

Right now this has left me feeling that my life was not as important as a book.  Because we never had a holiday from at least 1980 because of books, we have no family memories of different places because of books.  He won’t take me to a boxing gym because of books, my sister couldn’t windsurf because of books.

We never went out for lunch as a family because of books.

I feel like books stole from my childhood.

Contrast this to when I began to be exposed to other fathers, both those of my dad’s generation and my peers becoming parents.  I’d hear stories of, “yeah dad came over and we had a beer in the back garden and we may have had a little too much” from peers, this was a foreign concept to me.  To be honest it’s something I wouldn’t have enjoyed anyway as I didn’t really have that  depth of relationship with my dad.  I don’t think he really knew the real me, sure he would observe what I get up too, but he really didn’t know what made me tick or what my innermost needs were.

I said to my mum once when we had a heart to heart in my late forties/early fifties.  “You know mum, I’ve never heard dad ask me, How are you Michael?”

His dementia journey has been an ‘interesting’ one, the first things that left him were his worries.  He became this jovial man that didn’t seem to have a care in the world.  That was really hard to get used too, seeing as he was a grumpy old man all his life.  There is some research to suggest that those things that have not been deeply embedded into the memory get lost first.  So whilst early on, he’d remember mum's birthday, the date they got married, when it came to his kids he had no idea.  

The birthdays of his children were so easily lost, although to be perfectly honest, I don’t think they were forefront in his mind anyway.  

Every birthday would be the same, mum would want a hug and a kiss and give us a present.  All we’d get from dad would be ‘many happy returns’…. That’s its.  I still shudder when I hear this as it seems so sterile, there was no warmth.  Never did a conversation on our birthdays reminisce about when we were born.  No personal anecdotes of when we entered the world, never heard how it was the proudest day of his life…. Nothing! emotionally he was a desert.

When a mate of mine's daughter was a lot younger, she wanted to try different hobbies and pastimes.  Horses, chickens, dogs and so much more. My mate would be there thinking of how he could support her in those activities, he has built a horse stable, with  a water source and I’ve lost count of the dog kennels he has built for her.  Even built what he called the world’s biggest chicken coop for when she was breeding them for shows.

It was wonderful to see how this father supported his daughter but at the same time, I just felt insignificant because I wasn’t worthy of support.

These sorts of experiences were all around me.

When I was playing rugby I played with three brothers, they were notorious for beer drinking after the matches.  I got to know them really well and you could see they were a chip off the old block, because their dad was just the same.  Now put aside the issues of alcohol, what I saw was a tightly knit family, where the boys bonded with their dad in ways I never did.  Seeing them sit around a table, poke fun at each other and  laugh harder and harder as the beer took effect was both funny and heartbreaking  for me, I was so jealous.

I wanted to be a great father, I wanted to help our children flourish and become the best they could be in the way they wanted.  I wanted the opportunity to figure out how I could make it all work for us all.  I wanted to right the wrongs of my self centred parent, by making sure our children never felt insignificant.

I wanted to create experiences to ensure our family had a rich tapestry of memories that would both not only allow them to feel they really belonged in a healthy family environment but also so these memories would help them shape how their own families would develop over time.

Here I sit in this middle land angry that my father and mother, to some respect, squandered something so special and at the same time grieving the lost chance of being able to be the best parents we could.

As I sit here, thinking of that rear view mirror, I know that I’m no longer that pre-teen waiting for a seat at the table or a ride to the gym. And it has taken a long time, but Vickie and I are building a different kind of tapestry now—one made of advocacy, shared honesty, and a community that understands this 'middle land.' My father may have chosen his books over his children, but I am choosing to use my actions to ensure none of us feel quite so insignificant again.