father's day.

Typically, I am a research fiend. By that, I mean I read everything about everything - internet, text, I'll watch tv programs on just about anything. In the last week, I've read about transgender, intersex, mormons, primordial dwarfism, and exercise (not in any particular order). Typically, I read a lot of medicine, health care, and psychology. I will read about cancer, blood diseases, autoimmune diseases, mental health - you name it.

Tonight, I realized that not once have I ever investigated the disease that will take my dad from me.

My dad was recently put on hospice; he has been suffering from emphysema/COPD for very many years now. It's at the point where there is so little elasticity in his lungs, that his next cold could very well kill him.

Highly likely that this is my mind's way of coping, by not even acknowledging this disease. This must be a highly protective defense mechanism of mine, because usually I am not a head-in-the-sand type; typically, I learn all that I can about something, because if I feel proficient, I feel protected. I don't go into things blindly or uneducated - I do my research.

In this instance, I can't bring myself to know any more about the disease that's killing my dad, or to know ways to deal with the unsettled feeling I get when I know my dad is not ready to die, but has no choice. I don't know how to deal with the guilt of not having done more in a situation that was clearly out of my control to begin with. With the realization that I don't know my dad all that well comes no desire to learn how to reconnect. I can't bring myself to try and reconnect with old friends to try and talk about this, because I've wrapped myself in the cocoon of newness that is my life, my job, my relationship without working on maintaining the close friendships that I have. In fact, the idea of talking about this to anyone seems exhausting.

My dad and my family have always had a rough relationship. I love my dad dearly - when he's sober. I hate him for not taking care of himself sooner, for not quitting smoking when the doc told him he was eligible for a lung transplant. I hate him in advance for not being there when I get my doctorate (he was too sick to go to any of my other graduations) and for not being there when I get married, or have my first baby. I love my dad for the fact that even though he was incredibly unhappy and chronically depressed, he did everything he could to put some money away for me for school, working two jobs and taking out parent loans to try and cushion the blow a bit. I hate my dad for ruining some of the best years of my mom's life, and ruining their finances, but I love him because he sings Sir-Mix-A-Lot and dances around the kitchen, making Betty Crocker spice cakes. I love him even though he makes stinky eggs and eats fish dinners from Palace Pizza every Friday. I hate that he's only met my dear love of 2+ years only once. I hate that my brothers have had to bear the burden while I've been in California for two years, but I love that they both grew to be strong, successful men regardless. I hate my dad, but I love my dad. My therapist in high school cried with me as I mostly tried to avoid the topic of my dad - as you see, it's a heady one.

I am generally good at compartmentalizing; for the stuff that I study, and the work that I do, I have to. I did not cry the first, second, or third time my father was in the ICU. My brothers were inconsolable, and someone had to be strong. I think it would have pushed them right over the edge to see me cry at that point.

Father's day presents a challenge for me. How do I express how I feel to my dad? The mushy father daughter cards apply to a certain extent, but seem frivolous and trite in light of the situation. How do you express in words, such a complex set of emotions all centered around a person with admitted faults, but dad is always a bit of a superhero in their kids' eyes. My superhero dad, with the Hulk Hogan mustache and taste for parliaments and miller lite, is nearing the end of his life. My dad, who still to this day can't operate a computer and has no real clue as to what it is I do, still recognized how important my dreams were, and was proud of me no matter what - even if he didn't believe in psychology.

His best friend died a couple of months ago, of smoking related cancer. His daughter was married about a week ago - without him. I imagine that she understands how I feel pretty well.

I tried half heartedly to read the information now, to process it - but for some reason, my thirst for knowledge is off on this one. I don't need to know the ins and outs of how my dad is dying. I don't need to read sick dad forums, or talk to others about my beginning to form grief; instead, I just need to live, love my dad, and forgive him for past transgressions. The research and reading will remain devoted to other topics.

I guess the point is I'm just not ready for this. I'm not ready to accept that my dad's death is imminent. I feel selfish, because he's living but a shadow of a life, yet I still secretly hope for many more years. Feelings that will not be sorted out in years of therapy will not be worked out on a brief blog post though, so to bed I will go.