Connection: A Ghost Story

It was a Friday. Friday night. A tremendous day.

It’s hard not to feel guilty - who wouldn’t feel guilty for wanting their dad to leave the family, for craving to never see him again? And the part I despise the most, is that they say - when you hate so strong, when it bothers you so much, its because you actually love them - and that thought kills me. All I know is, that it’ll either be Mom or Dad who moves out when I go to college – and I’ll be damned if I let it be my mother.

I suppose the hardest part of coping remains living at home. I try to avoid my dad at all costs, but I know this can’t endure forever. He seems a very decent - maybe even good - person in public. But when he comes home. When he comes home, its like he slides off his Mask, keeping it in his back pocket. Eventually, something will happen: the Mask will stick, or it will be lost forever.

Do you have my change, he demanded.

I didn’t open the door. I didn’t respond. I silenced the voice that screamed, shut up, shut up, shut up.

I asked if you had my Money.

I winced at “Money.” Just stop! Stop making me feel guilty! I hardly even spent anything!

My dad controls the family. He told me himself – I am the Moneymaker for this family. It is his Money. And he fancies making that fact known. Just this past year, he cut my brother off completely. Randomly. Out of the blue. No warning. Not even a loan for the new grad was negotiable.  

I give thanks for this meal, he began.

I heard the voice of my old father. I jammed my hands over my ears as my dad said the Thanksgiving prayer. Liar, liar, liar!

For everyone being here together, the calm voice continued.

He paused, and a pale vapor wafted through his teeth. He shuddered. Re-inhaled the Vapor. And the distant memory of kindness returned to his facade.

I focused on my brother to get me through the meal. But my brother did not appear to have seen the Vapor. Was it a trick of the light? I ditched early and nearly ran to my room.

I saw a glimpse of the father I used to know, the father I grieved and buried so long ago. I wrote.

I always carry my journal because it makes me feel safer. And then I realized. I realized that it wasn’t anger that drove me. Anger is the emotion that comes after. After fear. And you fear because of Vulnerability. I carry my journal to feel safe from my dad. I write because I am afraid to tell. I turn my chair because I am afraid someone is looking over my shoulder. I am afraid he is right behind me. All the time. I am afraid.

What are you doing outside instead of doing chores? My father chided after dinner.

I stiffened. Watched his hand tremble near his belt. Waited for the scolding, for the why aren’t you taking out the trash?

I th-think…He began.

I watched the Vapor ooze out of his mouth. Slowly. Until it loomed above his head fully formed. A cringe kept me from running.

And this is what the ghost told me. You leave because it is easier to walk away than to fight for what you really want. It is easier not to face your dad, to block him out, to abandon him before he can abandon you. It is easier to pretend you do not love him, than to allow yourself to feel love, to feel Vulnerability.

I love you.

The vapor, the memory, lifted his hand as if to return the feeling.

Then he turned to mist. I never saw him again.

I once asked myself what the difference is between fear and love. Now I ask myself what the difference is between love and fear. Because love came first. I don’t want to be my dad. I don’t want to be the person that neglects his daughter for sleep when she needs to go to the hospital. Or who chooses to close the business deal rather than visit his son recovering from a seizure. I don’t want to explode in anger to mask the fear of feeling. I want to be strong enough to feel without resisting. I want to be strong enough to be Vulnerable.