20 years

I don’t think in all these years I’ve ever written about that night.  Funny if you think about everything I’ve ever put into words.

I was just 18 and a Freshmen in college.  Living at home, struggling to end a painful long-distance compulsive relationship with my boyfriend of 2 years.  Trying to figure it all out.  Taking so much for granted. Living like most 18 year olds, completely unaware I was on the cusp of real adulthood.  Not the exciting, freedom filled, adulthood.  The adulthood most of us become aware of when things don’t go the way we expected and we have to gather what we have with what we know and move forward.

It was Christmas and I unintentionally shoved my own family to the backburner while trying to be polite to my boyfriend’s family.  In our two years, we’d never spent much time with his father, but that night they were caught up in nostalgia and I couldn’t bring myself to speed up our exit.  So, eventually we said our goodbyes and made our way to my own home.

I’ll never forget walking in and feeling how boring things were.  No fan faire (not really my mom’s specialty) and my parents were less than cheery.  We were late, but even that fact didn’t register in my 18 year old mind.  We were there now, of course things were ok.  I wasn’t a habitually late person, but I was definitely someone who put my boyfriend above all else.  I couldn’t see then, what I see so painfully clear now.  They weren’t mad.  They were hurt.  They were watching their daughter put an arrogant and sullen young man ahead of her family.  At Christmas time. 

I’d love to say that was it.  But no, it gets worse.  They were polite and I know they tried to make the best of it, but my persistent obliviousness continued.  I helped my boyfriend pick out a present for my parents.  Just one of those token presents to show them he was considerate.  Which, like I said, I helped him pick out.  All these years later, I can’t tell you for sure, but there’s a pretty good chance I paid for it too.  A medium sized Pepperidge Farm gift basket, enough for two, seemed just right. I’m embarrassed to admit it now, but yes, without giving it another thought we finished off the basket after they were asleep.  I thought I was being sweet by staying home because it was Christmas and I did feel bad about being tardy earlier, and I was 18, my parents food was mine.  The fact that this was their Christmas present totally went over my head.  Those of you who know me know that I really can be this unaware at times.

Christmas break meant everyone was off of school and having my boyfriend in town meant that I wanted nothing more than to be with him 24/7.  I’m sure I was showered and dressed and out the door by 10am the next morning to be with him.  I don’t remember when they explained to me that they were disappointed and hurt, but it happened sometime that day.  I always had enough on my plate emotionally when my boyfriend was in town, so I  put it out of my mind to be dealt with later.  Being able to hurt my parents was still a realtively new idea.  My dad was mad (hurt) and I decided to let him cool off.  My dad was mad, so I was mad.  Simple as that.  I was 18.  I guess that’s my only explanation. 

By that night my boyfriend and I were in a spat, which was not uncommon for us.  I’m sure he wanted to go out with his friends and I’m sure I wanted to go.  They were all 21 now and I wasn’t.  They went out and I was home unhappily figuring out what to do.  My mother, thank God, asked me to go with her and my father to watch my brother sing. I decided I would let it go for the night.  Of all the things I’ve ever been grateful for in my life, not being a total brat at that moment, is pretty damn high on the list.

My brother had just discovered that he was a karaoke natural.  21 and lubricated by alcohol he was in his element.  We walked in and I heard his voice before I saw him.  I remember so many bits from that night.  I wasn’t sure what to make of it. First time I’d ever legally sat down at a table and had a drink.  It was Texas and I was an accompanied minor.  Anything was fair game.  They were still my parents so I just wasn’t sure how to react.  My dad bought my mom a shot, which she wouldn’t drink.  It wasn’t until just now that it occurred to me that he knew she wouldn’t drink it.  How could he not?  She didn’t drink hard liquor.  Never had.  I had no idea what 25 years of married would feel like back then.  At 12 years, I have a better clue.

He pointed to me.  My mom just rolled her eyes and turned away. I picked it up and looked at him.  Was he mad enough at me to let me get drunk?  I couldn’t tell.  Silly now, I know.  He was hurt, not mad.  This was a peace offering. 

We stayed for a couple of hours.  1 shot and 2 drinks at 5’7, 128 pounds, I was feeling fine.  It was the sounds and the feel of the place.  It was seeing my parents in a bar.  It was hearing the surreal sound of my own brother’s voice broadcast over the room.  It was the truce that meant that they would always love me know matter what stupid mistakes I made.  It was a glimpse into the looking glass.

We watched my brother for a while.  He would sing a song and then sit with us.  He laughed at the look on my face and the novelty of being there as a family.     It was the only time I ever sat at a table and had a drink with my father.  It was the very last time the four of us were ever together.  There was no way we could have known at the time, which makes it all the more important now. 

We were home by midnight and I was in bed almost immediately.  My father said goodnight to me and somewhere inside me I still had the tiniest bit of sullenness.   “Night Daddy, I love you” was my normal reply, complete with a kiss.  My last words to him were “Good night” with the mental note to be done being moody in the morning.  It was at least six months before I woke up in a good mood.  My father was taken by ambulance a few hours later.  I never saw him alive again.

Part of me wishes the whole Christmas debacle had never happened.  Although I’m sure my ex-boyfriend is a wonderful human being now, we were not very good to or for each other back then.  He would have been just as happy to have spent Christmas with just his dad’s family and it would have been much better for me if I had been at home for that last holiday. 

In the end, life doesn’t work in the way or the fashion that we think it should.  We do what we can, with what we’ve got.  We keep our eyes and our ears open and we should always revel in the tiny miracles around us.  That night at the bar was our tiny miracle.  Do I wish I’d been less of a brat?  Of course.  Do I believe that my father forgave me the moment he realized he was leaving us?  Yes I do. 

Living with him for 18 years taught me that.  Losing him is still one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but loving him is what made me strong enough to bear that.