Change of Heart

Change of Heart

By Morna Gersho

My dad was not a typical dad. I guess he might be defined as “atypical.” Of course, he never intended to be flying solo. That was never the plan. He and my mom were a sealed partnership when they had their first child, and then decided to keep going with three more.

So, when my mom got sick, could not get well, and had to return home to her parents my dad surprisingly suited up. In fact, as my aunt always pointed out, “I always thought your father would farm you all out.”

So, with that in mind it’s obvious the bar was never set high.

Anti-social, embarrassing, angry, and opinionated my father checked all the boxes. He was known to answer the door in his boxers, his clothes were often stained, and his worn backpack that he carried everywhere was always full of books. He could quite easily be found posted up in a corner reading, or possibly quoting an author, or philosopher aloud. When my mother was well, he enjoyed a career of a sought-after English professor but when she got sick many things went downhill. Namely him, then his job, and eventually his personal life. Out of work, he began isolating himself, spending his days in the public library, reading, writing and quoting his favorite literature, film or jazz music.

One of his favorite quotes was from the Greek philosopher Diogenes.

“You come into this world alone, and you leave it alone.”

He also loved shocking anyone with his frequent burping, or farting in public places.

I just wanted him to be normal. I just wanted him to fit in. Just once. I just wanted him to be like other dads. I just wanted to fade into the typical family crowd. If there was such a thing? I was exhausted by the time I hit adolescence. The state of constantly being embarrassed was exhausting.

Luckily, by the time I hit my twenties I was beginning to learn how to handle him.

He never wavered. He never adapted. I changed. I began to be able to navigate the shame.

And by the time I started my own family the man who didn’t need people began to need me. He would come over, stay and stay, and read in the corner. And even when I stood in front of him in my pajamas announcing I was going to go brush my teeth, the man still could not pick up on social cues.

When my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer it was a no brainer what I would do. I think many children (if they can) just simply suit up for this journey. I knew I would support him, I would do whatever he needed while he battled cancer. I had a very supportive and understanding husband. Because of my father’s age, and the stage of the cancer when he was diagnosed, it was a very quick and painful seven months.

When my father became ill, he was a completely different person. I still, to this very day, do not know if who I was with those seven months was a different person. Was this my REAL Dad? Or someone under the influence of medications? Could this be my real dad, the real person/soul stripped bare because of his illness? My father was so radically different during those seven months. Was this the man, was this his true personality before my mom got sick? Could this be the same man who slapped up those impenetrable walls so quickly after my mother got ill? I will never know. It really bothered me initially because he was a completely different person while sick. He was completely the exact opposite of the Dad I knew growing up, and the one who had raised me. He was kind. He was loving and reflective.

An even more startling change while he was dying was that he was affectionate. All my life, he would never say “I love you.” Of course, it didn’t stop me. I still hugged and kissed him. I still expressed my love for him even though it wasn’t reciprocated. The most I could ever get out was a random pat on my head, and maybe, “You a nice girl.” One of my last afternoons with him, he motioned for me to lean in close, and when I did, he kissed my cheek.

In the end, I guess you could say forgave him. It just happened. I think everyone goes into crisis mode when the rug gets pulled out, and you learn someone has limited time. Your stuff doesn’t seem important in the grand scheme of things. Everything that went before is inconsequential.

Was it easy forgiving him? Uh, no.

But you know what? It was my mother who had the last laugh. She had unknowingly countered his claim (and Diogenes) “That you come into the world alone and you leave it alone.”

My father turned over a treasure trove of letters to me when I got married. My father had saved over 150 letters of correspondence from my mother. Those two smitten lovebirds had written each other twice a day while away at school. He was at Columbia studying literature while and she was at Syracuse majoring in music. I learned so much about their relationship from those letters, and of course I learned so much about the kind of person my mother was. My mom not only held her own with my father, but sometimes she even stood up to him. And in one letter she was having none of this Diogenes, “We don’t need anybody,” foolishness, and she told my father so. My wise mother had countered, (quite firmly I might add), “Raney, I don’t agree with you on this. Yes, you are right. We do come into this world alone but I believe we are here on this earth to forge relationships. I believe relationships are crucial to our existence, and we need them.”

And of course, she was right. People do need people.

He did need us.

And in the end, I’m pretty sure he knew that.