Freedom

March 28th was the initiation of my freedom.  My father and husband were alone in the condo while I was at work. My husband was on his laptop in the kitchen doing his work, and my father comes into the kitchen and decided to create drama. He would usually stare at my husband across the counter with an angry, vengeful look on his face, or he would shoot out insulting comments to him – and in response, my husband would usually either ignore him or put his headphones on. Occasionally, he has lashed back at him with similar rude comments, but realized that yelling back really hasn’t done anything but expend his energy.

But March 28th was different. I suppose my husband ran out of patience. And I don’t blame him. I would have ran out of patience as well if I was constantly interrogated by an old man with whom I had turned my whole life around to take care of, succumed to his pleas of sickness and weakness when it was only a tactic to gain attention, cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner every single day for him, and drive him to and from the doctor whenever he had an appointment, not to mention doing all his laundry, fixing and maintaining his computer, and supporting him with whatever it was that he needed or asked for.

So on March 28th, my father did what he had been doing many times before already – interrogated my husband with questions and vengeful stares. My father paces the living room a bit, mad-dogging my husband like he is a marching soldier on enemy territory, then he looked over my husbands shoulder as he was at his computer and demanded that he tell him what he was looking at. Oh and to make matters worse, he threw in a few “you are nothing, why don’t you get a job” remarks in his mix of “I want to create drama” bullshit.  And my husband pushed him away from his computer and makes a few insulting remarks back to him.

I know both men, and my husband would NOT have started a fight. My father has this awesome track record of being a serious asshole to everyone that he has ever lived with. So I really don’t put it passed him to have been the one that instigated this fight.  I really have no idea what happened after my husband pushed my father away other than my father running to his room to call the police.  A cop finally arrives, and my father tells his story in his own skewed way. He claims that he is at war with my husband. He claims that my husband hates him. He explains that my husband pushed him and how he fears his life, and then he rambles on about World War II and how the Japanese invaded his country and how he needs to be a warrior and fight for his country. I was on the phone as he explained all of this to the cop, and the cop asks me if my father has dementia. I tell the cop that he was never diagnosed with it so I am not sure. The cop suggests that I get him checked as he is showing signs of dementia and his mental state doesn’t seem very credible. He goes on to tell my husband that he won’t be in trouble for pushing an elderly man, but not to exert physical force of any kind no matter how gentle it is, because the law protects the elderly. So my husband is relieved, and my father is still angry. The cop leaves. Minutes later, my father is sitting on the couch and starts to choke. My husband is concerned that something might actually be wrong with my father and he runs to give him water. My father takes the water, drinks it then spits it on my husband. My husband who at this point had opened his heart up to him, was surprised with the behavior and acted on defense and slapped him across the face. My father, now in more rage than ever, takes my iPad, throws it at him, then grabs the TV remote which was sitting on the table and starts bashing him on the head with it. My husband, remembering what the cop said, didn’t defend himself. He allowed my father to create bruises on his head, as he dialed the cops number and asked him to come back. The same cop shows up. My husband is livid. My father is afraid. My husband wants to press charges against my father. I am now on the phone with him and I encourage him not to. I tell him that OUR MONEY will be bailing him out if he does. The cop also agrees NOT to press charges as he is unsure of how my fathers health is. My husband agrees not to press charges. Cop leaves. Of course my father doesn’t stop there. He then starts prancing around the condo claiming that he won the war against my husband, yelling racist comments to my husband about his ethnicity. My husband is tired of this. He knows he can’t touch him although every cell in his body wanted to retaliate. Again, I really don’t blame him. So what does he do? He goes to my fathers room as he is yelling his racists comments, and pees on his bed. Yes I know. To some, it’s hilarious. To others, it’s disgusting. Nonetheless, I really do believe my father deserved it. In many ways, I even think my father deserved to go to jail. No one has ever showed my father that what he has been doing all his life to make up for whatever void he is feeling in his own life, is INEFFECTIVE. My husband almost gave him this gift of getting in trouble with the law, but the cop and I stopped him.

So now, we are moving out. Whenever I think back to this story, I start to hate my father. I am embarrassed of him and I question what my mother ever saw in him. I REALLY want to love my father again as I really loved him when he first moved in with us. And I would seriously question my own actions and attitude if it wasn’t for all the memories I hold of my father being this exact same way with others…. my mother, my mother’s sister, his brother-in-law, his own sister, EVERY roommate that has ever lived with him, every caregiver that was ever assigned to take care of him – all gone. He pushed them all away with similar events. My husband and I are the only ones who haven’t walked away from him which is why I believe the scenario went as far as getting the law enforcement involved.

So anyway, we found another place to live. My husband is staying at another house until we can move to our new place. I am still staying with my father. My father still gives me a hard time, day after day, night after night. He has escalated his level of paranoia claiming that my husband is going to hurt him. He wanted to change the locks until I sent the locksmith away. He unplugged every phone in the house and hid it under the dog’s bed in his room. When I found the phones under his dog’s bed, he claimed that the dog stole the phones and he told me to scold the dog.

I am looking forward to moving out. This is a blessing in disguise. This is my chance to leave him. He wants me to leave him. I heard him talking to his sister who ALSO when through similar traumas with him when she used to live with him. She told him that he is giving his daughter (me) a hard time and how could he be looked after if he is pushing me away? His response was that “the Lord will take care of me” and when I really think about it, he’s absolutely right about that. I don’t know which Lord he worships for being the angry, bitter man that he has been all his life, but I am the LAST STANDING HUMAN BEING on the face of this earth that would ever want to take care of him, and he is pushing me away. And for that, I am actually glad. He was NEVER going to give me the life that I wanted. I want a life with my husband where I could raise a family, and spend time with him without worrying about my father feeling left out.

What my father never understood was that he was a third party coming into a marriage between myself and my husband. Although he would never admit it, I have witnessed his jealousy and anger whenever I wanted to spend time with my husband without him. And what I wished he would’ve done was understand that he was not part of my marriage. But I don’t think he ever did.

But now it’s all over. My husband and I are going to have our own lives again. And hopefully I can start to love my father again once I separate from him. This is what he wants, or so he claims, but this is DEFINITELY what I want.

Welcome to my life FREEDOM.