I grew up daddy’s little girl – no question about it. I didn’t have to say a word when I’d had a bad day at school, he knew. He knew and we went for a drive to talk until I felt better. When we moved and I thought my life was over, he cried at causing me so much pain. When I went away to college, he walked me to my dorm room like it was the first day of kindergarten.

But things didnÂ’t stay that wayÂ…

I remember back in the summer when things had reached a major breaking point with dad. We had reached the first time that he didn’t always take my calls and we found ourselves at the impasse of near constant tension with a dash of argument for good measure. Friends thought I was being dramatic, “it’s just temporary,” they said.

But I knew they were wrong.
My heart doesn't lie.

I cried. I sat on the bed in disbelief.
Our arguments hit me like a ton of bricks.
I sobbed. I stared at the walls and felt lost.
I saw that I was finally losing my dad.

The seeds of disagreement have been there for years. I mean, there’s a reason I have no idea what the multiple remodeling projects at his house look like – I haven’t been there in at least three years, not even a drive by while in town. Hell, it could be longer … I lost count. But back then, the disagreements were small – I started taking the steps to protect myself from his decisions and he quietly let me go, step by step – rarely did it get heated or angry.

Now, IÂ’m lucky to get a screaming match, hang ups, and threats.

I have to say I just donÂ’t understand.

When he decided to marry his current wife, I was absolutely against it – she is a cold, mean, spiteful, selfish, unemployed gold digger that has consistently spent as much of my dad’s money as she could, while sucking the life and happiness out of him – but I was there. More than that, I was IN the wedding. He asked me stand next to him as he married her and as much as it killed me inside to do it, I did it. He said it was important to him, so I did it. Standing in a wedding, as painful as it was, was worth keeping my father.

It wasnÂ’t until Grammy died that the seeds of disagreement really took root, broke ground, and really began to flourish in all their poisonous glory.

But still, he strongly suggested we start looking at houses in May when he was in town for graduation (although my brother promptly inserted himself in the middle of that idea). At that point, I thought I was humoring his fantasy. I didnÂ’t trust him enough to believe it was real.

Obviously it was real Â… and now I have a house.

In February, I tolerated his wife stepping in front of my mom at the viewing, introducing herself and making sure people knew who she was. I hated every minute I had to spend in the same room with her, but I kept my mouth shut.

In November and January, when I asked for her to be absent from court proceedings so that I could spend time with my immediate family grieving this horrible loss, my dad stood on principle that he “would not tell someone else what to do,” “that if she says she wants to be there, I cannot stop her.” Fight after fight, he now expresses the worst opinions of me that I have ever heard in my life from anyone.

A broken hearted, grieving daughter asks for a reprieve from the interloper and instead, she loses her dad. And in the process, her brother. How Â… how in the name of everything sacred is that even possible?

So between then and now, I lost the man that bought the house I live in. I lost faith in who he was. I lost the ability to trust him. I lost my respect for him.

How do you reconcile living in a house paid for by someone that you don't even have a cordial relationship with? How do you look yourself in the mirror and accept a gift like that from someone that you canÂ’t look in the eye? How do you get comfortable with the fear that you may be asked to leave on a whim?

Posted by: Princess Cat at 11:36 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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