Communication

I've known for a long time that communication is an important part of any relationship. In fact, I feel that there is no relationship without communication. Perhaps that is why it has ceased to worry me that my so-called relationship with my dad has pretty much gone down the toilet. There never really was a relationship because we never had communication. Oh, I tried. I tried when I was younger. But unfortunately, I came to realize that my dad only heard what he wanted to hear, and never what I was trying to tell him.
For example, when I was 14 years old (or thereabouts) I went on an overnight camping trip with my two best friends. This overnight camping trip was through my friend's church. There were other people on this camping trip, including guys. I didn't think anything of it. I had a great time. My two best friends and I hung out the entire weekend, hiked, shared a tent, and had great adventures (we almost hiked into a buffalo . . . literally), but when I got home, my enthusiasm for the trip was quickly squashed when I decided to tell my dad about my fantastic weekend. I was telling him about some exciting thing, I'm sure in an excited and animated way, only to be interrupted with this, "There were boys on this camping trip?" I was astounded. I hadn't really thought about it before. It wasn't an essential part of my story. In my silence, he proceeded to get angry and tell me that he never would have let me go if he had known that boys would be going, too. That was my childhood relationship with my father. I learned after that experience to be very selective in what I told my father. If it was something really important to me, I would tell my mother, but never my father. If I couldn't escape mentioning something to him, I was very careful in what I said, only telling the exact facts and necessary details.
That is the time that I can really say that my communication with my father ended. There wasn't really communication with him before that, but after that vivid experience, I quit trying.
That is, until my brother died. After my brother died, I realized how fragile life really is. He was there one day, gone the next, with no warning that such a drastic change was going to take place. I wanted to revitalize my relationship with my dad. I attempted to tell him so, and although he agreed that he wanted a better relationship with me, I don't think either of us really knew how to go about it. I was already a way at school. He doesn't like to talk on the telephone. It seemed an impossible situation. Then I left for my mission. I was half-way around the world with the only form of regular and consistent communication that of writing emails or letters. At first I didn't hear from my dad at all. My mom was really good about writing me. Elizabeth got good at writing me after I chewed her out for not writing me. Sara, although she eventually wrote me every week, did not write much, so I guess I can't say that she was good at writing me. However, although my dad didn't write me weekly, he did better then I ever expected. I considered progress to have been made, no matter how minuscule.
Then, less than a year after I returned from Russia, my mom passed away. Although we had a little warning, it was definitely not enough. We were all shocked by my mother's quick passing. I figured that my father would realize the importance of family (that isn't to say that he thinks family is unimportant, but knowing the importance of something is different than REALIZING the importance of it) and step up, become a father, a real father. But the opposite happened.
The day that my mother died, I became an orphan. Not officially, but that is how it felt/feels. Perhaps the problem is that my father never learned how to be a real father. For him, being a parent means physically providing for his family. Although that is important, being a father is more than just bringing home the bacon. It means being there emotionally. He never was. I only remember my father saying one nice thing to me while growing up. But that isn't much of a surprise, he was gone so often. He was never interested in what I did in school, or what my dreams and aspirations were. Or if he was interested, he wasn't interested enough to ask me about it. Perhaps my mom just passed the information on, and he was content to hear about our lives, rather than participate in them, but for me that is not enough. That is not what it takes to be a father.
So, after my mother died, I again wanted a better relationship with my father, but I didn't know what to do about it. I felt and still feel that it is up to him. He has to take a step, make an effort. And here is where problems in communication come back into the picture. I have to say that a lot of my dad's family is bad at communicating. Sometimes, at least when it comes to them, I find myself having the same difficulty. On my part, I know the reason why, I don't feel like I can communicate with them. And so no communication exists. My older sister lives with one of my dad's sisters. Whenever that sister wants to pass information on to me, or wants to ask me something, it is done through my sister. I'll get a call from my sister (which rarely happens). That is why, when I graduated, it was really annoying that my aunt, who said she would be at my graduation, didn't come because she hadn't gotten the information about my graduation in time. But she has my phone number. She could have called. She could have asked me herself. But, communication is not a strong suit in that family. For me, that makes me feel like I can't call her directly and ask her things, or tell her things. After all, she is a great deal older than me. Shouldn't she be setting the example?
This is ending up a lot longer than I expected. But I have just one last thing to say about communication. The most recent display of lack of communication didn't actually happen with me. My younger sister who is living with my dad right now told me about it. Apparently my dad went out of town. He told her a couple hours before he left. This is by no means a solitary incident. In fact, my dad rarely tells her anything. She usually finds out that he is going out of town from other people, or when she overhears him telling someone else. There is no communication. There is no relationship.

Confrontation

So, I haven't written about anything to do with the following in a long time. That is partly because it is deeply personal and also partly because I like to pretend that it isn't happening when I can. But, after today, I feel like I need some kind of outlet. I will try to give a brief synopsis of the situation up to this date, and then explain what happened today.
First, if you remember, my dad remarried over a year ago. He married a woman who has since caused untold havoc in my life. She is rude and inconsiderate, manipulative, emotionally and verbally abusive, and she particularly likes to say bad things about my mom. She was born on September 18th, which is the day that my mother died. She likes to make jokes about that, but the most hurtful thing she said that she was "grateful" for my mom's "sacrifice in dieing" and that she just "knew something good" would happen on her birthday that year.
Other than that, she likes to yell at my sister for silly little things, like leaving a cupboard door open (even if she wasn't the one to open that cupboard). But, to make a really long story short, the situation has been pretty bad for my sister. She's been trying to avoid confrontation, hoping for it to get better, but it hasn't and in some ways has gotten worse.
Today it became even worse when my sister decided to stand up for herself. My dad's wife demanded that Lizzy clean up her room immediately. When Elizabeth refused, she, I guess you could say, freaked out and went off on a power trip. My sister told her that she wasn't going to put up with her abuse anymore. My dad's wife followed Lizzy into her room and stood there blocking the door. She stood in her room for 3 hours, refusing to leave until my sister cleaned her room. Elizabeth told her that she would clean her room as soon as my dad's wife left the room, but the wife refused. She said, "I don't make compromises." My sister called me for help. I, being so far away, didn't really know what to do. The wife refused to talk to me, calling me "childish" (wow, and yet she was acting the way that she was?). So, I talked to her through Elizabeth (I really felt childish doing that, but it wasn't what I wanted). All she would say is that SHE is the boss, she is in charge around there, that she didn't make compromises and if my sister couldn't deal with that, then she would have to leave.
Well, I'm sorry, but it is CHILDREN who refuse to make compromises in a conflict situation, or very immature people who think that refusing to make compromises make you look weak. She said that what she wanted was for Lizzy to clean her room, but when she was given that option, she refused. That tells me that what she REALLY wants, is to dominate. She wants to exercise unrighteous dominion. Either that, or she really just wants to get Elizabeth out of the house and make sure that we (all my sisters) are no longer a part of my dad's life. But, I've kind of felt like she was trying to drive a wedge for a long time.
So how did the problem get resolved, you ask? Well, I called my dad while Lizzy called someone from church for some help. That person suggested a compromise that we hadn't thought of: Lizzy would strip down the bed while the wife was in the room, then the wife would leave (by the way, I've always referred to her by her name before this, I just don't want that kind of association on my blog right now, plus, I'd prefer not to use names except for my sister, since I've mentioned her time and time again) and Elizabeth would finish cleaning the room. She, again, refused to compromise. By the way, we asked her to be civilized and she also said that she doesn't make compromises. Being civilized is a compromise?
Elizabeth used the excuse of taking the laundry down, and escaped her room. In the meantime, I called my dad. I told him what was going on, but he was on a conference call, so he couldn't really talk. He said he would figure it out when he was done with his call, which he said should be soon after. Well, a while later, he got home. He and the wife left for lunch. On the way out, the wife said that she expected the room to be clean by the time she got back.
That was my dad's solution to the problem. Maybe he talked to her over lunch, but I feel like nothing was resolved. Maybe the resolution will still come, but I wonder if there is a resolution to this situation. The wife obviously refuses to be a civilized person and respect us just because we are her husband's children, if nothing else, and she also refuses to compromise, but without a compromise, she is just being a b***h. (Sorry, I don't like to swear, but I can't think of another word that adequately describes how she is acting, PLUS she used the word to describe herself, so for me that makes it fair game). Plus, I don't see my dad ever standing up for any of us if that means disagreeing with his wife. Its funny because he didn't use to be that way . . . But, its like he is afraid to disagree. I'm not saying he has to always take our side (that would be just as wrong as never taking our side), but allowing his wife to verbally and emotionally abuse his daughters is not acceptable.
The only solution I can come up with, is for Lizzy to move out. I just don't know where she can go, especially since other family members have demonstrated their unwillingness to let her stay with them, and I can't afford to pay for her living expenses. If I had a real job, I would let her stay with me until she found a job, but I can't afford it...
Anyway, I'm sorry to unload all this on you, but I already talked about it with my friends and was still frustrated at the lack of a resolution. I hate being down here. Of course, I probably would have punched her if I was up there, and that wouldn't have been good, but I hate feeling helpless...

Frustration....and tears

I think that my day has been well captured by the title of this entry and the picture above. Today has been a stressful day. My dad got back last night with his new wife. Everything was fine, or so I thought, until we got home from church. They brought back with them another dog and another cat. The dog was shut up downstairs while our dog was upstairs. If I had known that the dog was downstairs, I would have locked my cat up in my room. That was a big mistake. When we got home, we discovered that the dog had peed in my room and my cat was nowhere to be seen. We commenced to call his name, search his favorite hiding places, try and entice him with a treat and a feather, but he was no where to be found. Finally I got out my flashlight and started shining it in dark spaces. That is when I found him hiding under my bed. I tried once again enticing him out, but he wouldn't budge for anything. I had to move my bed and pull him out. When I pulled him out, he was shaking.

I went upstairs to find out who was going to clean up after the dog because I refused. That may sound cruel, but she's not my dog and I wasn't about to clean up after her. But then again, if the other dog had peed in my room, I would have had the exact same response. In fact, I've made my sisters clean up things like that when I consider them to be partially at fault. Anyway, I went upstairs and my dad sounded like he was telling me to clean it up. I told him that I wasn't going to clean up after that dog because she isn't my dog. He said, she's a family dog, and I replied, she's not MY dog. We did that a couple more times before my dad freaked out on me telling me that Deb was his wife and that I needed to respect her and lots of other things like that. I finally said, what does that have to do with the dog peeing in my room? But by then I was so upset and so frustrated at my dad and at the fact that he just doesn't get it, just doesn't understand that I put on my shoes and my coat, got my cat, and went outside to sit on the porch. My sisters followed. I guess my dad mopped up my floor and when I came back inside, we disinfected and tried to comfort my cat. But he was still traumatized and kept trying to hide under the bed.
After lunch, we had family home evening (like we usually have on Sundays) but my dad wanted to talk. That was hard and more tears followed, but I feel better because at least now my dad knows how we feel about most things. At least he cared enough to listen, though I wonder if it will make a difference. Right now I feel like things are too late. As much as I love my dad, it may very well be too late for us to have any kind of relationship. That is, unless my dad cares enough to work on it and put some effort into it. Only time will tell.
Anyway, I guess that is about all for now. I am in Bismarck until Saturday morning. By then I will need to have my suitcase packed and ready for Jerusalem. Then hopefully I will meet Heather in Montana on the way down.
Other than that, I started teaching my sister Elizabeth to drive. Unfortunately, we've had to use my brother's car which is NOT automatic and so it is much more difficult, but at least she is starting to learn. That's what matters.
As for me, I'll be fine. I am going to Jerusalem in barely over a week, and then when I come back, I will be at school until I graduate and have to go into the real world. That is why I say it may very well be too late.