postscript

I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about my family in any journal (online or otherwise) I’ve ever kept. Last week, I spoke with my father who still lives in Puerto Rico. The same father I ran away from and came back to at 16. The same father I ran away from to find a new life at 17. I speak to him now once a week.Last week he called me twice. I am convinced that there has to be something wrong. Perhaps he was being friendly and called to say hello because he was lonely (he lives alone). He constantly asked if I was alright. Constantly asked if I needed help. I wish there were others who knew my father like I did. That way, when I spoke about him, I wouldn’t feel so alone and paranoid that something may be wrong with him and he isn’t telling me. When I left him the final time at 16, I went away with the knowledge that my father would never change. He is my father, yes, and in some way, I love him dearly but there is another part of me that acknowledges a complete hatred for the man. He is a pathological liar – avoiding truths to protect himself and his own privacy regardless of who in his family will be hurt by his choices. He is abusive to anyone who befriends him be it friend or family. I try to be optimistic when talking about my father but its really quite hard. Its hard to try to experience love and optimism towards someone who is responsible for every conceivable pain you can remember having as a child growing up without a mother nearby. On the 5th of September, my father will be 79 years old. He still jogs 5 miles a day. He doesn’t look a day over 50. He has also torn the same hernia 4 times in the last 10 years. He’s beginning to have problems with one of his eyes. I saw him 2 years ago and he lost some muscle mass. He looked sick. And, as usual, I feel left out. He’s also calling my half-sisters for the first time in at least two decades. Why is he doing this? Does he realize he’s completely fucked up as a father and is now trying to make up for it? Now?? Does he just want to be a father? Now?? There’s been a question in my head for the past few months…and I’ve been afraid to ask it: is he dying? Is he dying and not telling me? Because if he isn’t telling me and its true, I wouldn’t be surprised that it was kept from me.My uncle Luis who also lives in Puerto Rico has been diagnosed with cancer. Where? I don’t know. But it doesn’t sound as if he’s beating it. There’s nothing they can do to remove it as it seems to be recurring. He’s on medication but at this point, its apparently not doing anything great but it isn’t making him worse. Trying to remove the cancer apparently would kill him in the long run.I don’t know how long uncle Luis has had this cancer. He wakes up in the morning. Eats. Goes back to bed. Eats lunch. Goes to bed. Eats dinner. Goes to bed. But…as a family member who has grown up with this man, I had to ASK my father for this information. I may have had a father while growing up. But I feel robbed.