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Not doing too well
12 years ago
Yesterday (Thanksgiving Day) marked the 13-year anniversary of the accident that left my dad permanently disabled with a traumatic brain injury. The man that was my father essentially died that day, even though his body keeps on living.
I was 18 years old at that time, but I wasn't an adult - I was probably around 14 years old in terms of mental and emotional maturity levels. So I wasn't ready at all for his accident - not that anyone can ever be "ready" for a parent to fall off a ladder and smash his skull on your own driveway. I was already feeling mopey and depressed since my boyfriend (of all of two months) had dumped me just the previous month - he was only the second guy I'd ever dated, and I'd REALLY fallen for him, plus he was the first guy I'd ever had sex with, so I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. Plus, I was totally a daddy's girl - my father was the only person in my family that I was close to. We were exactly alike - both of us computer nerds who loved the same things: planes, computers, books/reading, and working with our hands/tinkering/fixing stuff. I wanted to be a mechanic when I was a kid, because my dad was so good at fixing cars - but he told me no daughter of his was going to be a grease monkey! (Secretly I thought he was kind of pleased that I was so interested in car repair, though!)
Anyway - I could probably go on for a few months about how amazing of a guy my dad was. He had plenty of flaws - he was an alcoholic when I was a kid (but who wouldn't be, if you knew my mother), and a workaholic too - so he wasn't around much when I was a kid, but he still tried to spend as much time with me as he could. He never hit me, and only raised his voice to me if I'd done something wrong. He was the best dad I could have asked for, even if I always did wish that he'd spend more time with me when I was a kid.
And, of course, he always promised that he'd take me away from the situation that was horrifically abusive to us both - my mother - but he never did keep that promise. And now it's too late for us both.
Aaaanyway, sorry to be such a buzzkill, and I'm not usually this talkative about my personal life, but this time of the year marks one of the times when I'm actually feeling personally vulnerable. Usually I'm all sparkles and rainbows and smiles because I've forced myself to grow up that way (thanks, Mom) but I really, really miss my dad, even though there's a person laying in the hospital bed in the living room that looks like my dad, a person that still breathes and looks at me... but it's not my dad.
It's really, really hard to face that person every day and still smile.
Sorry, First World problems, right? XD Don't worry, I'll be fine and back to my usual self in a few days.
I was 18 years old at that time, but I wasn't an adult - I was probably around 14 years old in terms of mental and emotional maturity levels. So I wasn't ready at all for his accident - not that anyone can ever be "ready" for a parent to fall off a ladder and smash his skull on your own driveway. I was already feeling mopey and depressed since my boyfriend (of all of two months) had dumped me just the previous month - he was only the second guy I'd ever dated, and I'd REALLY fallen for him, plus he was the first guy I'd ever had sex with, so I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. Plus, I was totally a daddy's girl - my father was the only person in my family that I was close to. We were exactly alike - both of us computer nerds who loved the same things: planes, computers, books/reading, and working with our hands/tinkering/fixing stuff. I wanted to be a mechanic when I was a kid, because my dad was so good at fixing cars - but he told me no daughter of his was going to be a grease monkey! (Secretly I thought he was kind of pleased that I was so interested in car repair, though!)
Anyway - I could probably go on for a few months about how amazing of a guy my dad was. He had plenty of flaws - he was an alcoholic when I was a kid (but who wouldn't be, if you knew my mother), and a workaholic too - so he wasn't around much when I was a kid, but he still tried to spend as much time with me as he could. He never hit me, and only raised his voice to me if I'd done something wrong. He was the best dad I could have asked for, even if I always did wish that he'd spend more time with me when I was a kid.
And, of course, he always promised that he'd take me away from the situation that was horrifically abusive to us both - my mother - but he never did keep that promise. And now it's too late for us both.
Aaaanyway, sorry to be such a buzzkill, and I'm not usually this talkative about my personal life, but this time of the year marks one of the times when I'm actually feeling personally vulnerable. Usually I'm all sparkles and rainbows and smiles because I've forced myself to grow up that way (thanks, Mom) but I really, really miss my dad, even though there's a person laying in the hospital bed in the living room that looks like my dad, a person that still breathes and looks at me... but it's not my dad.
It's really, really hard to face that person every day and still smile.
Sorry, First World problems, right? XD Don't worry, I'll be fine and back to my usual self in a few days.
What you've written about is a legitimate thing to be upset about, and I'm so, so sorry that it had to happen to your family. I can't lie and say that I can relate in any way, and I know that we don't know one another at all, but I wanted to stop for a moment just to comment here.
I know things look bleak, but maybe remembering to live for your father, the way he wanted things to be for you, you know? It sounds like you're well on that road already though.