Voices

In processing my grief over my stepdad Donnie this past week, there are a lot of emotions that have come up and I wanted to share because I think they might help someone else, somewhere down the line. It might help in managing grief or in understanding stepparent relationships – either way, I hope others find a benefit.

One of the biggest obstacles I’ve encountered in school and life – is my voice (my husband and children will laugh at this because I certainly have no issue within the walls of our home!). I was always the student and employee who let others ask questions because I didn’t want to sound stupid, be judged, to offend or be misunderstood. I learned that if I waited patiently, 9 out of 10 times someone else would ask the very question I had, and I wouldn’t have to draw attention to myself to gain the answer. I know that words have a tremendous impact and can help or hurt a situation with the use of a wrong word, which sometimes, can never be recovered. I am grateful that I can communicate here now, and with the words I shared at my stepdad’s service in front of our families, the importance of my stepdad’s life and the positive impact he made in this world. I know not all of us can and that there are others who share a vastly different opinion of my stepdad. They are free to voice that experience freely in their own space – I’m using mine for my voice, my opinion, my perspective. My stepdad was not always a nice guy, not even to me, but I choose to focus on the positive – so that’s what you’ll find here.

I never had father-like expectations of my stepdad. I had a dad, I adored him and so to me, Donnie was just the guy my mom had dated for a decade, while she was not raising me and missing a solid ten years of my childhood and development. See, my mom had left my dad when I was about five years old and my dad raised my sister and me with little to no presence from our mother. For the few memories I have of her visiting - it was dramatic and traumatic. At the same time, Donnie was not actively participating in raising his children either. The two of them had 6 kids between them and the only one around was my older brother, who would’ve been about 15 at the time and was largely lost in the shuffle.

My dad eventually lost his job and our home, and my sister and I were basically forced to move in with my mom and Donnie, who were strangers to us, when we were 16 and 14 years old or go into foster care. I didn’t know a lot about foster care, but I knew a lot of bad things happened there for girls and I didn’t want any part of it for me or my sister. No. Thanks. We’ll try to make the best of it with mom, I guess. I remember being in awe that social services had hunted my mom down – since I had tried to reach her the year before when I needed medical authorization for some stitches. I couldn’t get a hold of my dad and the outdated contact information I had for my mom yielded no results.

Donnie and I were not fast friends. Donnie had expectations of how his house would be run, how the children in his home would behave and my sister and I knew he was not the boss of us. At best, Mom might’ve been able to wrangle us in – but she was diagnosed with throat cancer a few months after we arrived. Yes, it was quite the circus and we all had different understandings on how this was all going to work. My sister and I were full of anger without our home or our dad – with mouths and attitudes on fire. Mom and Donnie were at a loss, not having really raised any of their children, on how to manage us and now my mom was seriously sick with a cancer that would take her voice – the doctors gave her three years to live in 1989.

The thing about step-parenting, is that each stepchild comes with their own set of circumstances. These circumstances depend on the age of the child, the status and involvement of the biological parent and certainly, each child’s needs. In our case, my sister and I were older, and our dad was very present and at the forefront of our lives – we did not need a replacement or anyone to tell us what to do, for that matter. We came with a solid set of values and expectations from our dad, but now lacked his everyday presence and support to back up those values and expectations and we had ample opportunity to test boundaries – and that we did. Had we come into an established home as toddlers and no active involvement from our dad, perhaps the situation might have been different, but Donnie’s attempts at “guiding” us – or telling us what to do – were met with defiance and anger. How dare him. IF I required help, I would most certainly look to my father for it – not him. AS. IF.

Then the day came when my dad needed help and with my limited resources at 16, I was in no position to do so and I was completely distraught that I could not help my father who had sacrificed everything to care for me. But Donnie was able to help to my dad, and he did. Not necessarily because he wanted to help my dad or because he had an abundance of resources, but because in his sympathy for me, knew it pained me that I could not. In all of my stubbornness, it took me a few years to realize the full measure of his generosity and I am grateful to have been able at some point, to look above the whole mess of a situation we were in and recognize his kindness and realize that he must’ve sacrificed to do so. I also see, as a parent myself, how grateful my dad must have been. My dad was very proud of my sister and me and I have no doubts to the devastation he must have felt when he could no longer care for us and feared the trajectory that would cause. How afraid he must have been to see us go live with people who had not raised us and how he must have prayed so hard for our safety and resilience through such a difficult transition, hoping we would not lose the values he had worked so hard to instill in us. Not to mention, the underlying feelings I think we all had that mom had not been with US all those years, because she was with HIM. I never felt that my mom left my dad because of Donnie. I suppose it’s entirely possible but at 40+ years later, it’s honestly of no consequence WHY mom left – she just did.

I lived in Mom and Donnie’s home for 2 years and was asked to move out not long after my 18^th birthday, pregnant. I was angry and did not visit often but realized my mother’s health was failing and my time with her was not unlimited and I did not want to have regrets over wasting what might be my only time left with her. I continued to show up from time to time and I tried to understand how one could abandon their children. My frustration over this concept compounded as I became a mother myself. I had a hard time with this for years. I tried to have conversations with my mother, wrote nasty and bitter letters to both my mom and Donnie, and there never was any response or explanation; we were all left to resolve it on our own.

Donnie wasn’t really a bad person; he had anger that had haunted him as well and played a pretty good tough guy but was really a softie – especially when it came to his grandkids (aren’t we all?). I eventually figured out that Donnie was never a threat to my dad’s place in my life, but an additional source of support to me and my children. Nobody could or ever would be able to replace my dad in my life or in my heart – nor my mother, for that matter. The parents we get are who we get – what they choose to do with their role is completely up to them. My mom and Donnie were not great parents, but they also weren’t bad people and I’ve no doubts they loved their children, they just didn’t have the capacity to provide a safe and stable environment for their kids when they needed it. They were not able to articulate or share the extent of their feelings – so they certainly weren’t able to help us sort out ours.

My mother had struggled with respiratory issues her whole life. Her asthma developed into emphysema and she became more and more dependent on oxygen through the later stages of her life. At one point she fell and broke her hip and the doctors would not do anything to fix it because her lungs were not dependable enough to withstand anesthesia. As a result, she sat in a chair dependent on oxygen, living with the pain of a broken hip for years. The doctor’s predictions of a 3-year prognosis for her throat cancer became a joke, since she lived well beyond – fighting for an additional 20+ years of life. In the end, while it was the cancer that took her voice, it was her respiratory issues that took her life. I’m not sure if that 20 years is was really a blessing or a curse for her, however – since she was forced to watch her children live their lives from her chair, though we were certainly grateful to still have her with us for those years. Her grandchildren had to be brought to her and put in her lap for her to see them and above all – she had no voice. Phone calls were yes or no questions, with one or two taps as a response. There were no casual calls to check in on her, you had to read her lips to communicate with her and oddly enough – it was a skill Donnie never really picked up. As a grandmother now myself, I am so grateful for the ability to pick up and hold my grandchildren and squeal in delight, calling them by name as they enter my home. It’s such a simple gesture, but one my own children were never able to experience from my mother. They did, however – from their grandpa Donnie.

Donnie cared for my mother (with assistance) for all those years, doing what he could to make her life enjoyable. On occasion he would ask one of the grandkids to join him fishing or go to the sportsman’s club and there were camping trips here and there through the years. Donnie took time to come to the celebrations he was invited to, showed up for grandparent’s events at school, was the voice to congratulate the kids on their driver’s licenses and graduations and through all of these small acts, built the love and relationships he had with us as his stepchildren and his grandchildren. By being a consistent, steady presence in our lives. Not one that was anticipated as our parent, but one that he chose as our stepparent. There are expectations and responsibilities of a parent, things that I am angry my mother was not present for me for. Through the insight of one of my dear aunts, I was at long last able to move past it and realize that my mother was not provided with a great example of what it means to be a mother. She didn’t know how to be any different and had spent all her life in a mode of survival and largely, without a voice. But Donnie gave her one. Donnie did not need to hear my mother speak or read her lips to know her thoughts and feelings in response to a situation and he had no qualms in representing and protecting her. It’s probably the sweetest part of their story. He was kicked out of many a doctor’s office and hospital room, in fight for my mother’s treatment and health – yelling in frustration. He did not always tell us what we wanted to hear, and he wasn’t always nice about it, but at the same time he encouraged us to share our own voice – unashamed. Donnie knew that we would not always agree on things and sometimes it seemed we rarely would. He did know, that we did not have to agree to be a family.

Donnie shared his love and respect for nature and animals with us by including us in camping, fishing and shooting – his adventurous side by sharing his love of motorcycles, his devotion to my mother through decades of sickness. As adults, my siblings and I made a choice to include Donnie in our lives and the lives of our children. We certainly did not have to do so, and he did not have to show up – but he did. Time and time again he showed up, for decades, sharing his voice and perspective (positive and negative) and we are all blessed because of it. For one, I can tell you that my voice will never be the same because of his encouragement because nobody can share my stories like I can and some of them are definitely worth sharing. As. Are. Yours.

 

Intentionally yours,

 

Crystal