Eight Years After
October 26, 2024
Jason Allatt, Low Entropy Volunteer Writer
Please note that this article discusses alcohol abuse.
A little while ago, September 10th 2024, marked the eight-year anniversary of my father’s death. I was 23 when he died. When I was 15 my father fell off the wagon, hard, and started drinking like he was making up for lost time. From the moment he started drinking again our family dynamic changed. He was constantly depressed and self-medicating, and when he received a cancer diagnosis, he did not have the strength to fight. He had given up on life long before the terminal diagnosis was given.
From the time I was 15 until he died when I was 23, our relationship eroded. As an angry teenager, it seemed like he had given up on us, like he was doing this to hurt us and if he wanted to live this way (or more accurately, die this way) than fine, just leave me out of it.
My home life for eight years was essentially going to school, being told I needed to do better, and watching my parents not communicate and build resentment while my father pickled himself with alcohol.
Eight years have passed since then. A longer time period has passed than the eight years of living like that. After all this time has passed, I finally feel like I can move forward into another stage of my life, the stage of being an adult that I thought was lost. I always feared that with my father’s death, my mother would be in a state of arrested development, that we would always be children that needed to be protected, a feeling I’m sure all parents feel but, as a child, one I didn’t empathise with. In the eight years since then I have struggled with my familial relationships, feeling like my opinions and feelings are that of a child, and children should be seen, not heard. I empathize with my mother for feeling this way. She was in an emotionally abusive relationship and once it ended, she spread her wings and experienced some real freedom, and the relationship she wanted from me was seemingly very different from what I wanted as a now-adult. We argued, a lot, about what family means and what it means to be on someone’s side, but it’s finally dawned on me that I don’t need to argue anymore. I accept my mothers feelings and opinions, and though I probably don’t agree with her most of the time, I support her. It’s been a long time of serious, therapeutic, mindful reflection on both our parts to realize that having boundaries does not mean pushing someone away, it means growing together. I used to hate these things about my mother, but I see it now as strokes on the canvas that coloured her into what she is today. It’s not good or evil or something worth hating her over, it’s just life. People are different, and though I may not be the idealized version of the child she thought she would raise, I’m proud of the person I have become.
I used to think that my father’s death meant there would never be a time where my mother and I could both be adults, and my angry young mind self-sabotaged and through this lens made all my relationships more difficult. But I have a new lens now, one that took a long time to put together. A lens that looks at people with empathy and acceptance, and comes with the understanding that everyone has moments and interactions that shape them
I truly believe I have grown. When I was younger, I was consumed by resentment and brooded on all the poor choices my parents made. Is that anger still a part of me? Unfortunately, yes, it’s a part I struggle with constantly, but a lot of therapy and a loving partner have really helped me take these negative emotions and feelings and but them in a box on the shelf so I can live my life.
Am I my mother and father’s perfect ideal child? Absolutely not, something that was pointed out often to me. But I truly believe I have moved to the next stage of my life, being my own man surrounded by the family I chose: the people who love and support me.
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