Three goodbyes down

Not everyone has the chance to say goodbye. Not all goodbyes are spoken. Some are a quiet, internal, coming to terms. I’ve had three goodbyes that were about my dad. One was in a hospital. One was on my own. The third I fought for. I wonder what the fourth will be like.

In 2014 my dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor that was the size of a baseball. Or maybe it was a grapefruit. I can’t remember which word they used. What I can remember is the feeling of fear that set in after hearing the news. I think I cried for the next few weeks, scaring my friend/roommate, while I struggled to live in the uncertainty of what was next.

A doctor was chosen, a surgery date was set, and insurance agreed to cover it. I drove from LA to San Francisco and met the rest of my family at the hotel. I remember spending time in his hospital room with everyone, and I remember spending time in it with only him. Each of us said our goodbyes. Or, at least, that’s how I spent my time with him. I’m not actually sure if others spent their time the same way. I said goodbye because I knew that if he didn’t make it out of surgery and I hadn’t, I would regret it. I thanked him for being my dad, told him I loved him and said I would be okay. That was the first goodbye.

I always felt close to my dad. I felt like he was one of the few people who saw me. We thought alike, as in, our thought processes were similar. He could say something and I would be able to connect the preceding dots that landed him there. He could do the same with me. There was a deep sense of understanding. When Mel entered the picture, I dreaded the moment I would tell my parents about her. I knew that nothing would be the same. I knew that I would have to say goodbye to the bond I had with my dad.

Still, I sent the email. I spoke to my parents. They were hesitant, and I thought that maybe I was wrong. I decided to check in with them. My dad didn’t understand why I would take the time to check in, writing, “I certainly don't want to fight you about your decisions. They're yours to make. It's your life; you're an adult. No matter how much I might think you're making mistakes, it's really none of my business, right? You didn't ask my advice 18 months ago, and you're not going to ask it when we talk next.” And then I knew. Without a doubt. The understanding we had was gone. That was the second goodbye.

The third goodbye was after I got engaged. It was after my dad and I spoke about why I was marrying Mel. It was when I decided to set healthy boundaries for myself. It was when I told my dad that I deserved more than the conditional love he was offering. It was messy and it took time and I wondered whether I could settle for what he was willing to give so that I didn’t have to say goodbye. What I realized was that throughout it all, I had respected his boundaries. If he hadn’t done and wasn’t willing to do the same for me, then it wasn’t me doing the walking away. It was him.

I cried over the potential loss of my dad. I mourned the shift in our relationship, knowing it would never be the same. I grieved the loss of our relationship when my dad told me that he wasn’t willing to sacrifice his principles to support me. Three goodbyes. Three losses.

I wonder what the fourth goodbye will be. Will it be after his cancer has won? Or will it be earlier? Will he reach out with a change of heart? I don’t think so. I’m not holding out hope for that. I’m not counting on a deathbed reconciliation. I think the fourth goodbye will be me, coming to terms with the loss of opportunity for him to prove me wrong.