You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

boots were made for walkin'The day the three of us packed our boxes and moved out of Mark’s house was also my Grandma’s 90th birthday.  There was a gathering at the nursing home, and the kids and I loaded the boxes in the car, and headed to the birthday party.  That sounds bizarre.  The fact that we put the boxes in the car, and went on with the plans of our day was a real indication that my mind was made up.  I couldn’t put the decision off because of a 90th birthday party, so we packed and went to the party.

My dad was there.  He’s a real piece of work.  There’s a whole blog’s worth of stuff to say about my dad.  And because there are divorces and re-marriages in my family, there were current spouses, ex-spouses, and ex-ex-spouses at this affair.  I am not close with my dad, and I don’t see him often even though we live in the same town.  A relative once told me that my dad had mentioned to her that he had seen me crossing the street downtown and there were two little kids with me.  My dad actually asked the relative who those kids were.  He had met them, of course, but he has so little to do with us that I think he sometimes forgets that I have kids.  Anyway, I  didn’t want him to be the last family member to know that I had decided to leave Mark, and I knew I wouldn’t be seeing him again, any time soon, so I figured I’d find a moment at the party to quickly explain my plans.  The kids and I were getting ready to leave the party, so I asked my dad if I could talk with him out in the hallway for a second.

We go out into the hallway and I tell him that I’ve decided to leave Mark and that the kids and I would be staying at mom’s for awhile.  He looks at me, his eyes well up with tears and he says, “You go back in there and you tell Mary that she should have never left me.”  I couldn’t help it, but I heard myself say, “Huh? Mary?  Mary who left you six years ago?”  And he sobs, “Yeah, Mary has no idea how she hurt me.  You go tell her to come out here and talk to me.”

I just walked away and let him stand there feeling sorry for himself.  I wanted to say, “I’ll be fine, dad.  Don’t worry about me, dad.  Don’t worry about Will and Jenny, Dad.  We’ll be just fine.  We don’t need anything.”  But all I could do was walk away.  You have got to admire the kind of talent, skill, cunning, whatever you want to call it, that  someone has to have to turn another person’s hardship into something that is all about them.

Related Post

Beauty Through the Act of Loving Yesterday's post was about beauty and insecurity and denying who I am.  It was a difficult post to write.  I'm not even sure where it came from.  Getting that necklace in the mail was akin to jamming a stick of dynamite in a dam that I didn't even kn...
In Good Company Over chocolate milk, Rice Krispies and coffee we had a venting session about yesterday's dad visit.  It used to be that our rants were punctuated with tears and "How long do we have to do these visits?"  Now the rants are filled with laughs, OMGs, "C...
Solving a Mystery This morning I was getting ready to put the finishing touches on a  post about boundaries.  I'd been convinced that things were going well with Mark because we had put some boundaries in place that protected us from hurts, while allowing for a modicu...
Lawyers, Attorneys and Bears – Oh My! Mark is contesting the parenting schedule - the schedule that he authored.  At the time of our divorce. he penned a parenting schedule with all kinds of flexibility to accommodate his work and play schedules.  I was quick to accept because I knew he ...

Tags: , , , , , ,

2 comments

  1. Well, my n husband just found a way to make my mother’s breast cancer about him. He pouted silently for 2 days about how I lacked compassion for him and his struggles. Truly, you can’t make this shit up.

  2. Kate,

    I’m sorry to hear about your mom.

    Once again, I’m convinced all of them (the narcissists!) play from the same script.

Leave a comment