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Monday, August 25, 2008

Where have you been Uncle Furry?

Hi all, it’s been a while. The last post was on the 14th November and it was the day after it all went a little haywire. This post is more of a reflection on the last 8 months since that post, an in sight into a journey of recovery, (if you like).

On the 15th November I was told that my father had cancer of the pancreas, liver, lungs. The diagnosis wasn’t all that flash. I went through a monster of emotions; initially I wished him an awful, painful death.

Then I rode the roller coaster, I questioned why he “hated” me. Questioned why the childhood I had with him was the way it was. The situation required me to re-contact my family. I decided that my 3 kids were not going to become involved again in the circus that is my family.

I re-lived the fact that my brother’s felt that I was “antagonistic” & deliberately upset my father & I “deserved” the beating I got. I make no bones about that, I freely admit I did things to anger my father & get him to re-act; I deliberately took the brunt of his anger, because I felt I could handle it. If he tried the same on my younger brothers, he’d have killed them.

I remembered, relived, the many, many fights we’d had. I remembered the night when I was on leave from Big Bangs R us & for whatever reason decided to go “home” as opposed to living at my mates flat like normal. How deathly quiet it was while I stood at the back door, the explosion of noise the second the door was opened.

The screaming & shouting was overpowering. As I rounded the corner, seeing my younger brother on the ground, pinned against the kitchen cupboards, being kicked furiously by my father.

I remember my peripheral vision blurring & he, my father, becoming the whole center of my attention. The grabbing him by the hair, slamming his face into the over head cupboards, spinning him around, a couple of well aimed knees into the stomach/chest area.

Shoving him back into the wall, pinning him against the wall & whipping out the stiletto (the double edge Commando dagger we used) and thrusting it up into his neck. It broke the surface & I held it there for what felt like eternity. To this day I still wonder why I never sliced him right to left.

Then, amongst all this anger & bitterness, there was a potential road rage incident. This scared me. I was moments away from basically stopping my car, hauling a driver out of the car & unloading on them. Knowing what I’m capable of, what I’ve been taught, and the fact I came from a violent background, I really frightened myself.

Sought help from a therapist, and it helped a little. Getting to talk to Aunty Jean & Uncle Des, helped heaps. Uncle Des was very much the “suck it down, move on” style, not surprising he’s lived it hard, especially as a Merchant Sea man in WWII. Aunty Jean hit the nail on the head when she said, “some people are just wired wrong”.

I saw him three times before he passed. The first was the only time we spoke. I noticed I was all on my own with him & 15 minutes in he got a call from my mother to make sure everything was OK. This disgusted me, with all those years, all that history that’s gone under the bridge; you’d think if my mother or brothers were in fear of his safety, they’d be there to protect him.

We spoke of politics, environment, just crap in general. I left after 45 minutes & it would be the last time he saw me. The next two times I saw him he was in a comma. My father passed on Boxing Day & I went to the service.

People spoke of this wonderful warm, sharing, loving person. Who was an honor to know. As the curtain closed, I flashed the coffin the bird & thought to myself, you can take your shit with you, it goes with you. Seems to me you can be a prick all your life & people are compelled to bullshit about the person you really were at your service.

Uncle Des came that day. Just to make sure I’d be OK. In other words, he came to make sure I was safe. And I was, with PG, Uncle Des, Joe & Bart all present; I don’t think anyone was game to interfere with me.

And I was sure PG was amazed with some of the comments, like, “Oh we’ve been dear friends of the L’s for 20 years, never met you before, how do you know Eddie”?

When they were informed that I was the eldest, it was like “Oh” & they’d simply walk away.

I came clean to my kids, the eldest two were gutted that I didn’t tell them about my father’s illness, Spud especially since he always said he make contact when he turned 18 & was robbed by only 2 months. In saying this, he still hasn’t gone out to make contact with any other family member since.

Then there was the passing of my ex father in law. He was actually closer to me than my own father. I saw him a couple of times in hospital, went tot his service, and wake. Re-met ex family members, had a few beers, left.

Throw into the mix of just the average day to day life pressures & issues; I’ve been pretty busy achieving fuck all other than surviving. PG, again, has been my rock & all the kids seem to have come to terms with the deaths of both Grandfathers.

So yeah, next week I’ll search the old grey matter for some silly story or antics from an era gone by. Today I just thought I’d give you a heads up on where I’ve been.

Cheers


Furry.