Not Ready to Make Nice…

You’ve heard that song right? Dixie Chicks? Responding to the backlash they got from Natalie Maines saying she was ashamed George W. Bush was from Texas? I was listening to it the other day and it made me think about my (current lack of) relationship with my father.

Forgive, sounds good

I can do that. I want to do that.  I know that in his mind, it is my fault, and I sent him to jail and I know that he doesn’t forgive me for that, no matter how justified it was.

 Forget, I’m not sure I could.

Not a chance. A year later and I still wonder if I’ll ever be able to be alone with him without being absolutely terrified. I still have nightmares.

They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting

It will happen. And I am healing. Slowly.

I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out

I know what happened. I have a vague idea why, at least on a long-term basis. He completely lost his shit. And I was screaming too, don’t get me wrong. But there is no doubt in my mind, or in anyone’s who was involved that he was wrong and no matter what I have apparently done to him throughout my life to make him so angry, so full of rage and hate that I knew that I was going to die that day, he still went so far over the line that he obliterated it completely.

 I’ve paid a price
And I’ll keep paying

Physically, mentally and emotionally. Even financially. And the fact remains that no matter what happens from this point on, even though he will always be my father, I lost my Daddy that day.

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round

I’m not going to rethink this over and over again in my head.

 It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could

It will never be right. We may reconcile at some point, but what happened will always be there, hanging over our heads. The big, ugly, deformed, elephant in the room that neither of us will be able to talk about. And it should be there. I will not be safe, at least not emotionally if that elephant pokes its twisted, hairy trunk into anything we might be able to salvage.

‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I won’t apologize. I will not. Don’t get me wrong, I said some really nasty shit. But my apologies were cried into my pillow and screamed out in the middle of the night and aching in my hip and jaw and catching my eye with the floater that will always be there, hanging out in the lower left corner of my visual field.

I know you said
Can’t you just get over it

Honestly, I don’t know. He may not even give a shit. He may be relieved he doesn’t have to deal with me anymore. He may be vindicated that I still cry when I think about it (like now)

 It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it

Things are better for us. I never realized how worried I was about My Mom until she came to live with us. How there was this constant, nagging worry that one day I would get a phone call that he had lost it, not with me, but with her. And he would have killed her. No question. I fought back. She couldn’t have, or wouldn’t have. We’re safe, a new kind of family, and even with the stress and logistics still being worked out, I do kind of like it.

I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don’t mind sayin’

Ok, I never slept like a baby. But now, despite the occasional persistent nightmare, getting fewer and farther in-between, I am sleeping better than I did. We’re safe now.

It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger

He’s not a stranger, but he probably will be to The Peach. And Princess Punk still doesn’t know how she is supposed to feel about it. But I won’t teach them to hate him. They shouldn’t. He offered to take The Princess shopping for her birthday. When I told her that it was a possibility and asked her how she felt about it, she said, “Um… I don’t really know.” It wasn’t teenage apathy. She just doesn’t know.

And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they’d write me a letter
Sayin’ that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over

There was no letter. Just a rushing force that (quite literally) knocked me down.

I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should

I can bring myself to be his daughter. I love him. But I can’t bring myself to be the person I was. The person who always listened to him, and believed him when he told me I was fat. Or an idiot. Or worthless. Or a manipulative little bitch. Because I’m not. And I won’t see myself through his eyes anymore.

Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting

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