The Gamble of Family
My experiences with death were tolerable; grandparents, aunts and uncles who had died of cancer, but when my mother died two years ago, I felt like my entire life had spontaneously combusted. We were inextricably close, and the loss I felt in absorbing that she was no longer around was frankly – indescribable.
I was nine years old, when my parents divorced – it's nothing unusual, father becomes unfaithful, mother wants a divorce; I instinctively stayed with my mother. My elder brother James stayed with my father. It was hardly a difficult custodial matter – I hated my father, and refused to see him knowing what he'd done to my mother, and as a result, my relationship with my brother deteriorated. James didn't understand how much I resented my father; they were closer than he and I had ever been. I had no intention of resolving my misunderstandings with him.
My mother and I lived in a reasonably large house outside Oxford; she was a successful lawyer, and could afford to send me to a private school. We lived there for the six years she and my father had been divorced, and we were fearlessly happy. Her confidence came back, and she now felt compelled to pursue other relationships with men; I had no qualms about this, provided that my mother was happy. Mum never sought to cut James out of our lives; he would come and stay with us for a few days at a time when our school holidays coincided. I was never forced to see with my father; he did come to Oxford to persuade me to come and stay with him in Surrey where he resided but the outcome of these visits was always the same, me getting upset and storming out.
I was not an angry soul, or a seriously misunderstood teenager; I had just inherited my mother's stubborn behaviour, which meant that if I took a decision I did not change it. Soon after I had turned fifteen, it came to light that my mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She had suffered from dizzy spells and had taken time off from work. When she was finally diagnosed, family life became complicated and melancholy. In order to keep our family together, my parents temporarily reconciled their differences. My father's new girlfriend Karen was highly displeased with the new arrangement, so to placate her, Dad begged Mum to give her a room in our family home.
My mother stoically suffered her illness for ten months. Her bright kind eyes and enveloping smile did not shrivel frighteningly like the rest of her to defy my swelling hope that news of a cure expected in fifteen would miraculously, comfortingly be found now or those mad cells in her would somehow regain their sanity and stop their delinquent rampage of pain. She passed away two weeks before my sixteenth "Happy Birthday". My happiness died. I was alone. My maternal grandparents, particularly my grandfather was furious that Dad was even there, and that he had brought Karen, claiming that she was the reason that my parents were divorced. It ended with my grandfather punching Dad in the face, and James and I having to break up the fight.
The worst part was the fact that I would have to stay with my father for two years. It was a struggle – that meeting with my parents' divorce lawyer to discuss my living arrangements for the next two years.
A year later – well I'm living with my father and James now; it wasn't a particularly happy arrangement to start with, but I'm slowly trying to re-connect with my father. When I first arrived at his house, he sat me down in his study and requested to talk to me. It was awkward to say the least, but I felt that I could at least try with him.
"Luke" Dad said tentatively, as he sat rigid in his desk chair whilst I sat uncomfortably on his office-type sofa. I hated the fact that my Dad was a psychiatrist; his perceptive stare could always drill to my buried thoughts which I refused to speak or was holding back, and on this rainy, quietly anxious afternoon he seemed determined to extract my feelings.
I had been observing the room around me when Dad broke the tense silence…
"Yes" I responded mechanically. Although I was still infuriated with my father, I had chosen to adopt a more indifferent attitude when around him, just because I never knew how to react around Dad.
"I know, I've never been the fatherly role model that you've always wanted, but I do want to try and make this situation work…" Dad looked at his feet as he spoke, and I felt my cold exterior crack slightly.
"Tell me why you did it" I said flatly, "I mean, what compelled you to break my mother's heart for some whore from your office". His face involuntarily hardened at my insult to Karen, and he didn't hesitate to chastise me for it.
"Please don't call your stepmother a whore Lucas…" he said coolly. To this I rolled my eyes before muttering a half-hearted apology under my breath.
Dad sighed, "I don't know" he said tiredly, "I just – I guess I was unhappy with the relationship between your mother and me. You have to understand that we were married at an extremely young age and –"
"You weren't one of those teenage romance stories where the girl gets pregnant and the guy decided that he needed to marry her were you?" I said dismissively. Dad shot me a look and carried on.
"We weren't!" he said defensively. "However we were maddeningly in love… your grandparents were supportive of our relationship, but they disapproved of us getting married. But no – your mother was not pregnant with your brother at the time." He paused to take a sip from his glass of water. "Our marriage just deteriorated in all honesty" he said, thoughtfully scratching his chin, "We didn't connect as much as we used to. And Karen, well – she was just a friend at first" (he sensed my look of disgust at the mention of Karen's name) "I knew she was interested in me, and she asked me to have a drink with her one night after work. But of course one drink led to another, and before you know it, we – well you can imagine what happened" Dad gave me an apologetic look, in response to my disdainful expression.
"But didn't you think how it would affect Mum?" I asked narrowing my eyes in contempt, "I mean – didn't you feel any remorse?"
Dad massaged his temples and leaned back in his chair; he picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk, suddenly becoming more interested in this frivolous action. It was at least another two minutes before he could respond to my question.
"I did think about your mother" he said weakly, "but she was so with her job… I never expected her to find out."
I looked at him appalled. He quickly amended his previous statement. "What I mean is – is that I thought it would be just a fling – over the summer you know… but oddly enough, I felt that there was a real connection between Karen and me. We talked a lot and then I fell in love with her-" he broke off staring out of the window, and massaging his temples.
There was an awkward pause in in which I considered the type of man my father was; before he and my mother divorced. I'd always looked to him as my inspiration for the man I wanted to be. I saw him as a strong and resilient man; the irony… But now, all I saw was a cowardly, selfish little boy, trapped in the body of a forty-something man.
"Do you think you could ever forgive me?" Dad suddenly asked, pulling me out of my pensive state. "I know I've been a terrible father – I've burned a lot of bridges with your mother, and broke our family, but do you think we could try and save what's left of this family?"
I didn't say anything for a moment, "I don't know Dad, I mean you hurt Mum… you hurt Mum for a long time. She was a strong woman, and you broke her. I know I was only a young boy at the time but I felt her pain. That's why I hated you. I don't want to try with you because of what you did to her… but I know Mum would want me to forgive you, because if the situation was reversed and it was you who died of cancer, I would hate myself for hating you."
With that I got up and stormed out of his office; returning to my bedroom. I felt the tears prickling at the back of my eyelids as I slumped down onto my bed; and as the first tear came, I did nothing to prevent the others from following. I hated crying; I hadn't cried when my mother died, and I certainly hadn't cried at the funeral – but just that one conversation with my father had sent me spiralling downwards into an abyss of emotion.
I lay there, allowing tears to drip down my face, just thinking about my mother; wondering what she had possibly done to deserve painfully losing her husband, her family, and then her life. Why was it always the good ones? Why was it the ones who worked hard, and deserved everything they achieved, to be pulled violently away from their happiness?
Sleep eventually caught me and I just lay there with tear-stained cheeks and a troubled mind. Thoughts of my parents and my elder brother swirled around; I'd never really approached James since I'd moved in with him and Dad. We were brothers and despite our conflicting views about our parents, we always would be. It would be difficult, but I was determined to make a solid effort with him and my Dad. I needed to for my mother's sake.
I awoke the next morning, feeling heavy and uncomfortable; I trudged lethargically to the bathroom and took a shower to relieve some of the stress. As the water cascaded over me, I felt a remote sense of ease. Once I was dressed I padded downstairs into the kitchen where my elder brother was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and chatting with my father.
"Hi" I said tentatively, giving them both an uneasy smile; James grinned back before getting up to get a mug and pouring some coffee into it and handing it to me. I took a grateful sip and thanked him quickly before sitting next to my father. He opened his mouth to say something but I swiftly cut him off.
"I'm sorry for last night" I said, "I just needed some time to mull it over. I do want to try and be a family again Dad; I'm still upset about the entire situation about you and Mum, but I need to look past it. It will take time, but I'm willing to try if you are." My father surveyed me, and then a smile appeared upon his ageing features, and he pulled me into a hug.
"Thank you son," he said his voice slightly hoarse, "I know I'm not the father you always wanted, but I want to make you proud of me. I'm so incredibly sorry for everything, and I want to make it right." I hugged my father back, and he beckoned to James over his shoulder who muttered something about us being emotional pansies before joining us in the hug.
Family is a gamble. You can never take for granted; you cannot abuse the privilege, because at the end of the day, your family needs you, and you need them.
4
Danielle Andrew-Lynch