A very long post about something that's getting me down

[DanaC]

Warning: this is a long post.

This is going to sound really stupid; however, I need to get it off my chest. My parents' divorce is bothering me.

Why is this stupid? Because a) I'm 34 and b) they got divorced in 1984.

At the time, I coped just fine. I would even say it was a good thing that they split up, as they were not happy together and the atmosphere in our house back then was horrible.

Why's it bothering me now? Well....it's hard to explain, so I'll give you a little bit of background on it.

At the time, I was desperately ill. I'd been off school and having treatment for about a year and was being educated at home by a (rubbish) supply teacher. Mum and Dad were in the 'separating' stage of things which at the time meant they were supposed to leave it for 12 months before actually divorcing. Mum was looking for a house and avoiding Dad. dad was a nightworker and that meant avoiding each other was relatively easy.

We'd had the 'Big Talk' and I'd been allowed to choose who I'd live with when the split happened and given that dad was a nightworker and I was joined at the hip to Mum the choice was an obvious one.

Imagine how that felt? Almost a year of trying to get along normally whilst all that was going on.

I remember my supply teacher asking me if my mum had found a house yet, just as dad walked into the kitchen. I felt like a traitor.

We were supposed to stay for Christmas, but the atmosphere had got so bad that Mum decided to leave a little before, and sorted out temporary accomodation whilst the new house was being renovated.

This is the bit that stays with me.....I was upstairs in my room packing my case and Dad came upstairs and brought me a drink of tea. It felt so weird. I could see the stair case from my doorway and wathed him go downstairs, he looked up and our eyes met but neither of us said anything. He looked so sad.

I put it out of my mind, in that way that 12 year olds can.

Dad never had another partner. (actually, we all are pretty sure that he is a closet Gay, but that's a whole long post in and of itself)
He continued living in the beautiful old house in which I grew up. I would stay at his house from time to time, or visit after school. By now I lived in a different town.

Bit by bit, the collection of junk that dad accrued began to take over the house. Odds and sods that had been left behind, stayed in their place and gathered dust. dad can't throw anything away, he is pathologically unable to. It's a sickness I know. If one of us tried to throw something away, even if it was really really broken, he'd take it out of the bin. The only way to throw a cracked cup was to smash it into dust. When they'd been together, Mum had fought a running battle against this compulsion and managed to hold it at bay to a degree; now without anyone to stop it, his need to keep everything that comes into his possession (including stuff he finds on the road, or by the side of the street) was able to have free reign.

Mum and Dad became friends. He'd visit regularly, they got along better as friends than as partners. She never stopped caring for him and vice versa.
When I fell in love, my new guy and my dad didn't get along. I chose my partner and a distance grew between Dad and me. It didn't last forever, but it did break the pattern of my staying with him. When I visited again the house was even more full of stuff. My old bike, which he'd been 'fixing' was still upside down in the drawing room....a plant pot which had been upturned in the middle of the room was still there, five years later. The canoe I'd been bought when I was 11 ( a full length Snipe slalem canoe) lay up the stairs along the side; my old bedroom, still with the bedding that had been on the bed the last time I'd stayed, was full to bursting with bits of timber which he insisted was for the renovation work he was going to carry out.

After a few years, he started to make sure I didn't go into his house. he made sure nobody went into his house. He'd visit us; he'd answer the door if me or my brother arrived but close it behind him and suggest we went to the pub. He doesn't ;et anybody in his house. I haven't been in it for 15 years, I can only imagine what it's like in there now....and believe me I do imagine it.

The beautiful old cottage is now falling apart. The white wooden window sills have rotted and fallen off; the garden is overgrown and destitute looking(once his pride and joy). The white wooden shutters at the sides of the windows have fallen off, except for the one which is hanging by a corner. The nets on the windows and grey with dust and age. A fir tree in the garden fell over and took out the telegraph wire which connected to his house. It remains unfixed.

At the age of 58 he was made redundant and managed to find a job as a maintenance electrician in a foundry. He worked there until he reached retirement age, despite an accident which led to him very badly burning his legs. He developed a bad chest which wouldn't go away.

Three years ago he was diagnosed with a lung disease. he eventually, after many attempts managed to stop smoking.

Two years ago, a water pipe became damaged and he lost his water supply. He kept insisting that he'd get it dealt with, but in the meantime, he took to visiting Mum ( a two hour drive) and bringing a bit of washing. He went to his friend's house and used his bath most weeks.

The water supply is still not fixed.

Last year a worrying trend started. None of us could get hold of him, he wasn't answering his phone. ten o'clock one night Mum phones me and tells me, she's found out he was in hospital. A friend had called an ambulance because he sounded so ill on the phone; turned out he had collapsed lung. A few months later, a similar inability to get hold of him turnd out to be because he was in hospital with several popped ribs (from coughing I think) and pneumonia.

Whenever Dad stays at mums, it's fine for the first two or three days, but after that he starts to get her down. He's not an easy man to be around sometimes. (though we also have a laugh sometimes, and he's extraordinarily generous; always comes laden with gifts and insists that if any of us need anything we have only to ask) She divorced him for a reason, she does not want to be living with him. She she cares deeply, and was hoping she could persuade him to let us all help him get the house sorted out, or at least get him to consider renting a small flat (he isnt short on cash). he brushes it aside. He is intent on not being helped in that way.

So, because I am so close to mum, when he's getting her down, she vocalises it to me. I'm her best friend, I'm the one she talks to and confides in. Unfortunately, this really bothers me.

Right now, dad is staying at her house for two weeks. he's just had a minor operation and none of us want him to do his recovering in a house with no water supply and few amenities. He certainly isn't well enough to be lugging bottles of water abot the place.

It's been two weeks and Mum's started to get down. She rang me up about ten minutes ago and vented a little. Not nasty, just that it was depressing her and the fact that he's decided to stay another few days just makes her want to cry.

So, now all I can see in my mind's eye, is Dad going downstairs on the day we packed, with that sad look in his eye. I don't want to say anything to ma about it, because then she won't have an outlet for her own hurt and given that she started inviting him to stay partly to facillitate his relationship with me and my brother, that wouldn't be fair. She's the one that is with him when he stays, both my brother and I are so busy that we only manage a few hours of visit....when we leave then it's just Mum and Dad.

So...I'm a little heartsick right now cellarites and it's only going to get worse. He's on portable oxygen bottles now, once or twice a day. He's too proud to let us help him. If we just went ahead and got into his house without his permission, it would be the breaking of our relationship with him. If I contact Social services it would be the ultimate betrayal in his eyes. I feel spectacularly helpless.

The worst part is; I just spent a lovely few hours with him watching the football. My ex also came over and we had a really good laugh. Mum was out. I'd only been back home an hour, feeling all warm and friendly when she rang me.

ok. If any of you made it to the end of that, you probably deserve a medal as well as my thanks for listening.