|
|
|
Tweet |
Hometown
Chelmsford, Essex, England
Joie de VIVre
My children, my writing. I just finished my next book, The Singhing Detective, which will be published at the end of 2010.
VIV Moment
When I was 19, I cared for my mother as she was dying of breast cancer and got to know her as a woman, a fighter and as the bravest person I have ever known. More than 40 years have passed, but I still have tears when I remember her. Though her death wasn’t my most defining moment, it was maybe my saddest.
I am surprised that the defining moment in my life was the death of my father, who died 10 years after my mother. He was difficult to love and to forgive. He was prone to rages, and from the age of 5 onward, I would listen in fear from my bed to the screams and cries of my mother downstairs, as my father hit her and threw furniture at her. My mother left him briefly several times, returning her parents in Holland. But she returned after my father told her he would keep me and my younger brother and two sisters in England if they divorced.
I drew upon these memories when writing my first book, The Devil’s Tears (Matador, 2008), which describes the strain at the dinner table, and how my dad would erupt and grab one of us for putting a knife down too heavily or coughing. Often my mother would intervene and took the beating for us.
Toward the end of her life, my mother found the strength to forgive my father, though I still found it hard to excuse his lack of caring.
My father died by just keeling over from a massive heart attack. My husband and I and our three children were at a holiday camp in the New Forest near Bournemouth, Dorset, and we were waiting for him to join us. He was a big man with a big voice, who was proud to say he boxed in competitions in his youth. Instead of the usual bluster, bustle and noise of his arrival, we got a phone call instead from my father-in-law. I listened to the explanation of his death, not taking in everything; the world around me felt still and muted.
There is so much to do when someone dies. Back in my house in the suburbs of London, I was busy making tea for visiting relatives and comforting my children, who were very young — 7 years, 4 years and 18 months old. I placated them with stories of how much he loved them and how each of them had a special place in his heart. I got quite wistful about God, the afterlife and the stars in the sky. It helped the children, and they watched eagerly at night for that big star that was Granddad shining down on them.
The service was lovely and went well. Afterward, for the first time, I was alone with my thoughts. I suddenly realized that I was no longer anyone’s child. I knew, of course, I was an adult at 29. But I realized everyone is still a child while they have a parent or two alive. This was the moment I had to grow up and take sole responsibility for who I was.
I realized that parents are taken for granted, and I didn’t fully know mine. I had never asked them intimate questions about their feelings and thoughts. My father was a man I didn’t know very well. I had overheard he had a difficult childhood. I didn’t ask what serving in World War II was like for him. I never found out if his childhood or his war experience were partially to blame for his violent temper.
Though I wish I could have forgiven him while he was alive, I finally forgave my father after his death. I like to think he was not a bad man at heart. He worked to bring in money and went without to provide for his family. No one ever helped him, and he had no family to turn to.
As a parent, you are always a teacher, no matter how old you or your children are. I tell my children, who are now 39, 36 and 34, how I feel. I share my childhood memories so they know where I came from. I tell them how events have shaped me and how I want my children to be proud of me and learn from my mistakes and my triumphs. I tell them how proud I am of them and what they have achieved not just in their careers, but in their family lives. I tell them how much I love them and what it is about them I love the most. I wish I had told my parents that I loved them, but we never talked in that way. Life is a circle, and my grandchildren have now joined that circle.
When I look at the big star that I pointed out in the night sky to my children that night, I realize I am here to make the very best of what time I have. I am lucky — I have a wonderful family, my health and, in a small way, the ability to help others that are less fortunate. That moment, years ago, has defined my life.
Tags: David Meece, father-in-law, Hammer of the Last 2, Human Interest, London, Matador, Netherlands, New Forest, teacher, United Kingdom
© 2012, VIV Publishing, LLC., Zinio, LLC. - San Francisco - New York - London - Barcelona - Taipei - Sydney - All rights reserved.
5 Reader Comments:
That is an amazing story and honestly made my eyes glaze over. We all have things happen in our lives and it is how we deal with them that defines us. You sound like a true inspiration and I hope to be able to follow your fine example in my own life. Bless you.
There seems to be a familiarity between your family situation and mine which hits home with me. I too lost my mother to cancer and my father 5 years later and their characteristics were similar to your patents though without the violence. I was an only child of their marriage and it struck me, after their deaths, that there was a hole that could never be filled. A feeling of being alone even though I had my own family at the time.
It is an amazing story, but not unique, as I believe there must be thousands who feel this way yet never express it to the world. Thank you for allowing others to realize we’re not alone.
A stunning article mum. Hope you know what you mean to all of your children and grandchildren. You are an inspiration and we are all so proud of you and love you more than you could ever know.
Maureen,
What an amazing and insightful story. I, too, had a volatile, not-easy-to-love father, and absolutely fell apart when he died, 14 years ago now. When my mother, with whom I was extremely close, passed two years ago, I didn’t shed a tear. I, too, was able to forgive my father, knowing that he did the best he could do with what he had. The undeniable truth through all of this was that he loved me, and his actions were not my fault. That alone allowed me to come out the other side whole.
Thank you for this.
Julie
Your VIV moment made me think of my own very difficult relationship with my father. There was a certain amount of violence while us 4 kids were growing up. He never took his rages out on my mother (thank God!), but he did vent his rages on me a lot. In fact, he and I always disagreed about something and if he wasn’t hitting me, he was screaming at me. Finally, after a lot of soul-searching and thinking that forgiveness was the last thing I wanted to do, I really have tried to forgive him, mostly because I think he needed me to. Like you, I didn’t ask him what his childhood was like and whether he was abused, lonely, neglected, etc. Sometimes, I wish I knew where he came from so I could forgive him for things he really couldn’t help.
My mother died in a horrific car accident on Dec. 25, 2002 and it devastated me. I wonder how I’ll feel when my father passes away? I really do wonder.