Let me explain further.
My father suffered from serious mental illnesses (bipolar disorder and mild schizophrenia). Although he was prescribed medication, he rarely took it. To the outside world, he appeared to be fun-loving and carefree. To myself, and my triplet sisters, he was moody, demanding and volatile. I was a sensitive and shy child. As you can imagine, this was not a combination that resulted in closeness.
I know my father was aware of the lack of connection between us.
I know this, because, four months before he passed away, he came to me and apologized for being a bad father. He said if he could do it all again, he would have done things differently. When he asked if I forgave him, I said, “Yes”, and meant it. My father passed away, and life continued.
Events of recent months have made me reassess many issues from my past, including those related to my father. From what I understand, both of his parents were violent alcoholics, who smoked more than two chimneys could have. The parting gift they left him was lung cancer caused by years of passive smoking. He had his own unresolved emotional baggage due to his upbringing. I understand why he wasn’t able to love the way I needed him to. I’ve also come to understand that my father did teach me some valuable things about love.
He taught me:
*That understanding another, by seeing their wounds instead of their behavior, is an act of love.
*To never get to the end of your life and wish you’d loved differently.
*To tell people you love them before it’s too late.
*To show people you love them.
*That you cannot love others if you don’t love yourself first . . . and you cannot love yourself when emotional scars brick up your heart.
I am grateful for these lessons, even though it took me a while to notice them.
R.I.P. Vernon Douglas Crawford xxoo