"Nobody told me there'd be days like these"

In the words of John Lennon.  This fits my mood today.  I wish I could make this song play through this post!

I'm in the wake of a fire at a home I hadn't thought about in years.  I'd heard about the fire from friends.  I also follow the local news from up there.  I clicked on a news video from the fire and there was my ex-boyfriend who is now a rural fire chief.  I hadn't seen his face or heard his voice in over a decade (15 years maybe) - he sounds a lot different now.  A lot of strange thoughts, emotions and feelings this morning.  And now you know why my son adores fire trucks. Blame it all on his momma.

Here is the video:  http://www.9and10news.com/story/20961921/just-in-manistee-county-fire-at-an-adult-foster-care-home

My dad lived in this AFC home that caught fire yesterday.  I don't remember how long he lived there.  It seems a big chunk of time, though maybe only 6 years or so. I remember him being there when I was in 5th or 6th grade and he was still there when I was a junior in high school but, I don't remember past that. Around the time my parents divorced, my brain turned off. I was newly dating that firefighter from the video and honestly, I think a lot of the memories from that time are just too painful to keep!  I never wanted to visit my dad then, not that I didn't want to see him but, because I would be trapped in the car with my mother for the 20 minute ride home after the visit.  She made me recount every word of every conversation.  Which turned into a 3 day pity party for her.  Things like "I don't know why he wants to do this to me" and on and on.  Painting herself as the victim. 

My dad was good man.  I don't believe he was a saint.  He had his faults too.  He didn't ask for this disease to cripple him when he had a young daughter to raise.  He couldn't help that he was in pain,  or his young daughter wasn't really into baseball, basketball, football, hunting or fishing.  How was he supposed to entertain a young girl?  He couldn't share much family news with me as he know my mother would sweat it out of me.  He couldn't share letters from my sisters or visits from my aunts or uncles.  If my mother found out he had a letter from someone, she'd storm into his room and take it.  I spent most of  my time hanging with the girls that worked there. Sometimes, I watched TV out in the main room with the other residents. Orchard Hill had an awesome kitchen and I loved to sit there and draw or sometimes the girls would give me a project to work on.  I didn't even mind helping fold laundry.  Anything to avoid having to tell my mom even a word my dad had said on the way home.  Then she would be angry because she drove me all the way up there and "he didn't spend any time with me".  I wish I would have done that differently.

I didn't realize at that time all of this broke my dad's heart. I'm sure my mother made it even more painful for him.   At that age, I didn't understand the feelings of a parent, a divorcing parent.  I didn't know what my mom was doing to him or to me.  I didn't know.  I know now, my dad understood what was happening.  I know he knew there was nothing he could do.  There was nothing I could do. I didn't see it.  I wasn't old enough.  I simply wasn't old enough to understand.  As we learned in Foster Care training, these kids who are abused, no matter, they still love their parents - especially their mothers.

I have a few photos of my dad, with ALL of his sisters and brothers in this home.  I remember one of me, with 2 of my sisters, brother-in-law and a baby nephew visiting my dad for someone's birthday.  Must have been dad's (we're wearing sweaters and 3 of the birthdays are August, and I'm June - he was March).  I think I even have one of him in his room, somewhere. 

I used to know all of the patients around the home, who was in what room all the way around the place.  I can still remember the layout of the house when he was there.  Funny, the things your mind holds onto.  Funny the things it lets go.

This home has changed hands probably a few times since my dad was there but, the people who owned it then really made an impression on my dad and he on them.  They treated him well and often visited with him.  They lived upstairs - their youngest son was a few years older than me and was a best friend to the guy in the video, and the door to get upstairs was across the hall from my dad's room.  The boys would often stop to talk to my dad on the way in or out and watch a game with my dad.  I haven't seen them in ages.  The woman and one of her daughters came to my dad's funeral.

I look back on all of this and well, nobody told me there'd be days like these.  Days that take you back to the worst parts of your childhood.  Nobody told me there would be days when you regretted the way you acted or the way you finished things, left things with someone you once loved.  Nobody told me there'd be days when you remember not having any say in how you were treated or the things that were done to you.  Nobody told me there'd be days when you wished you could have it all back.

Strange days - indeed.