ending

ending

Friday, November 2nd 2007

“Hello, Elmer, it’s Lindsay, from Vancouver.”

I just had to make this call, somehow the responsibility has fallen upon me and it’s important, to me, to Elmer, and for my growth and survival. I’m shaking, trembling, really. I’ve been welling-up and crying a lot in the past few days, years when I give it some thought. You can’t possibly prepare for a call like this. I’ve made many before that shared threads of absurdity with this one, but none quite match it’s finality.

I’ve made the, “you must come home soon, it doesn’t look good, dad won’t last much longer,” call. They never made it in time… myself, my brother, Brian, and, my mother, watched his last gasp. Collapsing was desired --- faking strength was my ruse.

Following up death of course consisted of the countless, “my fathers gone,” calls. Those were made on the day after my twenty-fifth birthday. Friends rallied and helped the recovery process.

Unfortunately, I made the same “come home soon,” call, just over a year later. This time, mom. They didn’t make it this time either… not while she was coherent at least, and again the trauma ripped me apart. Faking strength once again was my script.

After mom, the family splintered and I was for the most part left solo to sort things out and pick up the pieces. Fortunately, friends, not family, raised my spirits and helped me move on.

The demise of mom & dad should have launched a starting point of love and support, a point of solidarity for the seven children, including me (the youngest), where bonds strengthen and we look out for each others well-being, however, unless I missed something, we splintered apart. At least from my perspective. Home base and a place of belonging, safety, and love, invisible… maybe it was just because, I was the youngest?

Nah… we simply just divided and I was removed from the inclusion of family. Friends became my solace, family began to disappear and pass judgment. Actually, judgment sounds wonderful, they, the family, my three older brothers and sisters, simply just pushed erase, and I was no longer acknowledged. Any semblance of home… no more.

So what do you do?

You cry. Often.

You long. For a place of belonging. A place where you matter, to someone.

You long some more. For each years celebrated days to regain meaning… for someone to want you without the fear of them leaving. But you have trouble letting anyone in --- too close, cause you know they’re just going to jump ship as soon as your heartache takes away from their happiness. They’ll want to love you, and do, but the weight of your pain, despite of everything brilliant you may offer, is too much… so they go. Each time they do… you come closer to alone. Tears continue to flow. You want them to stop.

So, you rely. On friends, for support, and meaning. Some resist, they don’t understand. Their parents are still alive… they still have a home. They have no reference. They usher you away slowly. Pushing really. They weren’t really friends to begin with. The true ones stay… they don‘t try to understand, they just love you. You’re afraid they’ll leave. And thus, you cry some more. Sometimes the tears makes sense, at others the reasons escape you. The reasons are in a thick fog and your brain feels heavy, numb, actually. The tears stop. Only on the outside.

Life goes on… sixteen years pass and you find out by accident that you weren’t the only one acting, pretending to be something you weren’t, this time it wasn’t faking strength, this time your whole family is caught in a lie… everything changed, after a period in life where everything had been changing daily already... side stories for another time.

“Jim, I know the truth, it’s devastating… the family let me ride a life changing roller coaster ending in death, and they weren’t my parents… I would have got on for the ride anyway, but… somebody needed to tell me, it’s my life.” You calmly stated, tears now flowing internally…

The response, you’re no longer the little brother, the family collective wants to keep up the charade, you can’t, everyone’s roles have changed. Your parents have come back to life. One was part of the lie, she wasn’t good to you. You’re real father, a mystery.

A desire burns inside, you need to know something about him, about where you began, a stranger tracks him down. You speak for the first time (on the phone), eighteen years after you watched him die. The conversation is not rehearsed and starts with trembling, quivering, and simply, “Hello you may be my father.” He’s a good man. He doesn’t judge. He’s sorry. You fake strength again. You fall apart when the call ends.

Two years pass, nothing, the wonderful sentiment of the call is lost, it must’ve been too much for him to handle. You long for closure --- but you understand the difficulty the bombshell has inflicted upon him. You give up.

Your dear friends, few, that’s okay, that is after all where life deposits us, look out for you, without condition. You still fear losing them, because your script is consuming and relentless. They stay. You can’t express your love and appreciation enough.

You try to run. You can’t. You try to hide. There is no one to hide from. Calls from family, to the baby brother, remain silent. The scars cut deeper with each tick of the clock. You remain positive, but your not sure if you can. You escape with humor. Fortunately, you’re funny.

The last glimmer of family is gone… you cope. You’ve been informed your mother is dying again. Guilt is dumped. “Are you going to fix things with your mother before she dies?” The message is sent by e-mail.

You cry. She won’t even admit she’s your mother… all you did was be born.

An invitation arrives: Uncle Lindsay we’d love you to come to our wedding.

You want to --- you realize, you can’t. A wedding is not the place to meet your dying mother for the first time --- and reconnect with a family who choose to abandon you. You remain strong. Maybe it’s weak? --- you struggle with emotion.

The pressure grows. “Are you coming? Are you coming? Are you coming?” You avoid for as long as you can, until you can’t delay no longer. You draft a message:

Hello Robyn

Yes, I received the invitation.

Not a day has gone by where I haven’t thought about your wedding. I’m incredibly excited for you and wish you and Scott the best for now and the years to come. You’re an amazing young woman and I’m positive that you and Scott will build a fantastic life together.

As for coming to the wedding --- it pains me, but I don’t feel that it would be the best thing for your special day. Not coming has weighed heavy on my heart, however, I don’t think that I would be emotionally able to handle the side-drama that would unfold on that day.

Sweetie, my life has changed dramatically and I know for many of the others, nothing may have changed in their minds, but for me --- everything has. I hope you understand that. There is much more to this than I’m revealing here, stuff that I have to come to terms with on my own.

I’m sad that I won’t be able to attend and I send the both of you my love.

Much Love

Lindsay

You cry some more. The precise moment you’re about to hit send, and in a sense, close the book on a family that wasn’t interested in you --- a message appears on the screen:

Hi There,

My name is Tanya and I am writing on behalf of my Uncle Elmer. Elmer would like to be in contact with you. Please call him at home at ******** or on his cell at ********.

Best Regards,

Tanya

PS E-mail me back if I have the right e-mail address or not.

Thank you

Tanya

You still hit send on the first message. Then you reply to this new request. Within days you speak to your father again. It’s easy. It’s emotional. It’s wonderful. He wants you. He makes no excuses. A relationship picks up where it started two years ago.

He’s going to come to see you… he’s seventy-two and had lost your number, technology is not his friend, your number was on his cell, the cell was lost. He tells you the last years had been tough on him, if he has another son, it’s time to step up to the plate. He apologizes frequently --- we seem to be connected.

Months pass… I start to breakdown. He told me he was coming soon. Nothing, silence. Is this a cruel joke?

My mind is consumed with the meeting. I want to remain silent, instead, I share my excitement, “My fathers coming. My fathers coming…” He’s suddenly no longer coming. Until, I phone him… he’s been working up north and he’ll come out and see me once the work is done. He wants to see me! More conversations --- the bond grows stronger. I cry some more --- over lost time. So many years.

One Monday, he calls and leaves a message: “Lindsay, this is Elmer, I’m leaving Calgary now, I’ll be in Vancouver in a couple of days.” I shake when I hear it. I go for long walks and I can’t control the tears. I cry for my father who died. I cry for my mother who died. I cry for my mother who came back to life and closed her doors and resisted her role. And, I cry, about life… I’m broken, excited, confused, alone.

The past won’t leave me be, it keeps charging at me --- I’m so lost, I’m meeting my seventy-two father for the first time, and he’s excited to see me. My real mother, cast me aside, not without verbally undressing me, “you’ll never amount to much” --- “you’ll never be as good as your older brothers and sisters” --- “you’ll end up a failure” --- “Lindsay who?” Her words from my past, haunt me. I never understood --- how could she be my mother. My real father wants me!

The day finally comes, I waited in my car in a restaurants parking lot, there’s a knock on my door, “Lindsay are you going to sit in here all day?” He smiles. I was meeting my father for the first time.

He’s brought a friend… that’s okay, I understood this must be amazing for him as well. First up, we get tested, swabs, DNA. A formality. Our relationship grows, somehow we skip small talk and focus more on life and our journey. We share similar personality traits. He’s a good man. So am I.

Formality completed, we sit down to eat. The first meal with my father. We talk of life, love, family, our futures and what lies ahead. The connection is strong. He likes me! He wants to be my father! A pause, and he tells his lady friend, “I told you he’s a brilliant man. Positive. Strong. I’m proud.” I hid my tears. He wants to be my father!

It’s time to part company. In the parking lot I look into his eyes and thank him. He reached for my hand --- we embraced instead. He was touched by the gesture. I hugged my father for the first time in my life.

“Lindsay, you’re a good man. I’m honored to be your father. I want this. I want it for you --- for me. Before it’s confirmed, I want you to know that, I’m sorry. We can start fresh then.” As he left… the tears began to flow. He wants to be my dad --- my last memory will no longer be of his last breath of life.

Two weeks pass, the formality and confirmation is taking forever. I’m restless. I’m going crazy. I push and pressure the lab for the results. They respond with coldness --- the painful wait continues.

Finally, the results are ready. It was Wednesday --- two weeks after our meeting. I rushed to pick them up, and then, surprisingly, I can’t look. Hours pass…. I still can’t look. I know the results… I know it’s a formality. After a day goes by I know I need to close the chapter and start whatever is next, a friend gently presses me into moving forward. I tell him I need to do this alone, he says, “not a good idea.” His words were without condition.

Another hour and he’s right. In front of his shop, I open the results…

I’m lost and as we wind our way back to the starting point of this chapter, it’s now Friday, I’ve just finished my morning work… and it was time to make a call. To thank a great man for his love and support. For his attitude. For wanting me.

“Hello, Elmer, it’s Lindsay, from Vancouver.”

He’s excited to hear my voice. “Lindsay, how are you? It’s good to hear from you.”

“Well…” I paused… caught my breath “…I got the results.” Spit it out --- the tears began to flow. “Unfortunately…” I wasn’t holding up well. “…unfortunately, for me, it’s not a happy ending.” I couldn’t stop crying. “You’re not my father. Thank you for everything. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done. I’m so sorry to have put you through so much. I’m sorry.” And, then I just broke down.

He wasn’t relieved. His voice cracked --- filled with emotion. He wanted to be my father! He’s not. It’s not a happy ending. The lie continues.

On Thursday, November 7th 2007, my father died for the second time. This time: he wanted me!

I’m not sure if I can go through this again, however, I’m not sure if I get to make that choice.

***What you’ve just digested is a true story. It’s part of my life, a very painful and recent part. This is the first version of the story and it will be included in some form or other in a future publication.

You may ask why would I share something so personal?

Simply because I believe it may be helpful to anyone who is struggling with family life --- if I can survive… you can for sure. At least you can say: I’m not that guy.

Many hugs.

Be happy!

(stay tuned for the next chapter)