June 23 would have been my father's 62nd birthday. He died when he was 38 years old.
He didn't die in a tragic accident, he didn't have a long suffering disease. He died of a heart attack while jogging in the middle of Philadelphia.
He died of a heart attack at 38 years old.
Now, before I proceed, you have to know that he was a psychotic and abusive piece of shit. If anything, my MS afflicted mother and my 10-year-old self were lucky that this happened. I have a picture heavy post on another blog explaining my childhood. Domestic violence trigger warning- please don't read if you think it's going to upset you.
He was a very short and stocky man who yo-yo dieted and exercised. He was a weightlifter and could lift a great deal, but he still packed away the dessert. He chain smoked and took drugs. He didn't even make it to middle age.
We didn't know he was dead for a month since he was a John Doe. He and my mother were separated, and she thought (and hoped) he had skipped town. Nope. He was in a Philly morgue for just over a month in 1991 until they were able to track us down.
I learned early that we had to hide treats so he wouldn't take them from us or yell at us for eating them. He told me he wouldn't love me if I became hugely fat. I was taller in elementary school and a bit chubby. Everything he did to us made me confused and scared and in desperate need of comfort. So I ate those hidden Twix bars when my mom was in the shower, and I devoured Cheetos and Yoo-Hoo and tons of pasta when staying at my grandmother's. I knew it was good that he was no longer around, but I was also upset because I didn't have a father who loved me or who gave a shit about being there for me.
I had a father who selfishly and stupidly wasted his life.
I'm going to be 34 this year. My magic number is 38. I have to make it past 38. My mother died at 57, but she had progressive chronic Multiple Sclerosis; she was healthy as a horse aside from the neurological issues.
I can't be my father. I unfortunately inherited genes from him, but my therapist told me to focus on the positive. I have a lot of strength and I'm building my endurance. That's the most positive physical trait we share. I'm grateful that I inherited my mother's face and his coloring so I don't have to see him in the mirror. Ok, I do have his flashing dark eyes when I'm upset, but I'm trying to breathe and think before I act.
I want to live a long life with my husband. I want to entertain the notion of having a kid in the future. I want to be there for my family and be the best person I can be. Even when I'm having a bad month (like this one!), I know that I can get back on the horse and keep going. I'm so close to obtaining major goals. What did he do? People say the only good thing he did was make me. I'd have to agree with them.
I will jog, but I will not become obsessive.
I will eat protein, but I will not eat 6 eggs per day.
I will build strength, but I will not try to be a jacked up bodybuilder.
I will eat treats when I want, but in moderation.
I will continue to stay away from cigarettes and drugs and only have a drink socially.
I will live a long healthy life with my husband and learn how to be the best person I can be, physically, emotionally, and mentally.
This is probably the most important piece of writing that I've read all year. It is high-impact inspiration.
ReplyDeleteWonderful. You are already not your father!
ReplyDeleteMy husband's father died young (late 40s), and his grandfather too. He jokes (it isn't funny) that it's genetic (they were unrelated, cancer ... and I can't remember right now). Hubs turns 45 this year. He yo-yos a bit too, he's currently back into exercising and eating. It's not a guarantee but I definitely want him around for the long haul ...
ReplyDelete