Should I Apologise?

                                      SHOULD I APOLOGISE?


So I figured if I put it all on paper and wrote and told you about it, maybe you or your readers would be able to comment on whether I’m wrong and should say sorry or if I should hold out and spend the rest of my life waiting for an apology from him? 

I loved my Dad; he had a great sense of humour, always a glint in his eye, ever more present when my mother had finished yelling at me for one or other misdemeanour!  I remember holding his hand walking home from visiting our Gran, it would be late at night and once in bed I would put my hand over my nose sucking out the remaining whiff’s of Old Spice from my skin.  This would always put me to sleep and make me feel safe and secure.

With teenage years upon me, upsetting my Dad became a weekly occurrence, but for some reason, it would keep me awake at night.  Tossing and turning as his angry, often hurt, expression would float through my mind’s eye.

Adulthood brought with it a maturity that vowed not to upset my father again!  I married and produced two fine children, the first a girl, the second a boy, the first grandchildren for my parents.  I remember asking my Dad when pregnant with my daughter, If he wanted to be called Grandad or Oupa* he replied that when it was born it should refer to him as “Sir”

My marriage turned sour, I spent more time in tears trying to figure out why or what had happened.  In those troubled times, I remember phoning my Mum who told me that we were no doubt having a lover’s tiff and that I should get some sleep.  It was my Dad who visited me, heard me out, reassured me that these things happen and hey? If we did end up in divorce, it would not be the end of my life, things would still be okay for me and my children.  He gave me strength to carry on and pick up the pieces.  We got divorced – Life could only get better and it did.

I went overseas to the UK and had a holiday that was long overdue.  The last week of my holiday, my gut turned, I felt anxious, I was jumpy all for no apparent reason.  I arrived at Johannesburg Airport where I was met by my Boyfriend and my Mother!  As soon as I saw my mother I knew there was something wrong.  BANG!  My father had had a stroke – a week ago!  It had been a bad one and by all accounts should probably have killed him according to the Doctors.  He was now at home albeit drugged up to the eyeballs.  I went to see him but left that day wondering If I would ever meet my father again.

Over the months of healing my father became a horrible person, he was rude, bitter and hate shone out of his eyes at us all, my Mother, my sister and myself.  He rebelled against all advice he was given, if the doctor gave him tablets, he refused to take them, if the Doctor recommended a specific form of therapy, he didn’t need it.  If  his dietician told him he couldn’t eat this, as far as he was concerned he could.  The doctor’s said thank God he didn’t smoke – he started.  Thank God he didn’t drink – he began.  My poor mother developed breast cancer and had the lump removed and not once did my father acknowledge her existence.  Eventually anxiety attacks and bitterness ran his life.  Living in violent South Africa didn’t help.  My mother decided that my Dad and She would return to the U.K where my father would be close to his other 3 brothers.  Between myself, my mother and my sister, we helped pack up the house, sell everything and organise the beginnings of a life for them in the U.K.  My Sister and myself stayed behind in South Africa with our lives.

Two years went past.  My mother phoned out the blue one day – Her and Dad are splitting up.  He has refused to speak to her for two years.  He blames her for his stroke.  There is no reason for this blame.  It was just a decision he had decided to make. My mother felt dreadful but felt that there was nothing more she could do for him and that he may heal further if she was no longer in the picture.  My mother split their money in half; with her half she bought a property in the U.K.  My Dad rented an expensive flat for six months until his money dried up where he then became a burden on the council.

Dad came to South Africa a year later for a holiday to visit my sister and me.  God! It was awful!  He took us to Sun City a pleasure resort, booked us in at a fancy restaurant for supper one night and then proceeded to yell at the two of us in front of  the whole restaurant as to how we reminded him of our Mother and he didn’t like either of us.  Needless to say our appetites were non-existent.  We travelled back to Johannesburg the next day in silence.  I vowed when I got home that I didn’t want to speak to him ever again.  He left for the UK without me breaking my promise.

Two years later, Dad came out for a holiday again.  What a change!  He was so much better than he had been.  There was a promise of the return of his sense of humour, his speech had improved tremendously and he was now only bitter when either the subject of his stroke or my Mother was raised.  It was the beginnings of a new relationship.

Another 18 months later and he came to South Africa for a holiday again, this time; he brought with him a girlfriend who admitted she had been extremely nervous about meeting my sister and I.  She seemed to make my Dad happy, he laughed around her and it was so nice to see.  My sister and I agreed that although we wouldn’t have thought her his choice in women, who cares as long as she makes him happy?

The next time they came out for a holiday, they announced their engagement and a year later my sister travelled to the U.K to attend their wedding.  My Mother by now had also found a new love and a new life back in South Africa, so for the first time in many years, we each had found our own happiness.

My partner, a wonderful South African man, whom my father liked and respected, decided we were to go on holiday to the U.K.  This was a brave move on his part as it was the first time in his life he had left his home country.  We were to spend two weeks at my father and his wife’s home.  When we arrived on the doorstep, my father’s wife did not have the decency to say hello.  To cover my embarrassment, I explained to my partner that he was to make himself at home, this was the way things worked here in the UK.  It was two weeks of Hell in that house, I mean, who has a dining room table with seating for three?  Not once was a meal cooked for us, I did all the cooking and cleaning for my partner, my father and myself.  When I questioned my father and asked if everything was okay between the two of them- I was told that his wife suffered from depression.  Fair enough we thought as we packed our bags and proceeded to trek to better more hospitable destinations throughout the U.K.

Two years later and our turn to leave South Africa arrived.  We sold up our world and moved into the house my Mother so wisely bought.  It seemed great having my Dad round the corner from us and although we have never quite managed to get it together properly, we did spend a couple of happy Friday nights in our local club listening to a half decent band and sharing drinks with my Dad and his wife.

His wife’s Daughter – Hayley – was having her 40th birthday party a couple of weeks ago and my Dad phoned up and invited us to her party.  At first I queried why Hayley herself did not invite us or was it a surprise party?  My Dad said it doesn’t matter, I must just know that we are invited.  Myself and my partner discussed this at length and found it quite strange however, due to the fact that neither of us had found employment yet, we were not going to be in financial position to go to the party anyway.  A couple of days later I told my father this and said that I had been texting Hayley to say I would take her out for a birthday drink once we had found employment.  I hadn’t heard back from her though and my Dad said that he was sure she would come back to me soon.  He told me to think about coming to the party.

I texted Hayley twice more that week with no response.  The Thursday before the party I phoned my father again just to confirm that we would not be attending the party.  He asked if I had heard from Hayley, I replied that, No, I hadn’t, but would keep trying.  He responded by saying he had been told that the two of us, meaning myself and Hayley, had been speaking to each other in the club this week.  I told him that whoever had said this to him, was talking rubbish!  That was when he delivered the bombshell.  He told me that he was stuck in the middle and that he knew I was a liar!  I put down the phone.

It has since transpired that Hayley was the one who lied, but I have still not heard from my father since that day.  It is hard to put into words the feeling I have knowing that my father has thought of me as a liar? Why? Since when?  These are all questions that will never be answered, as it seems that neither of us will ever talk to each other again. 

My Mother said I should apologise?