So. Antibiotics are a wonderful thing and I am feeling so very much better, even managed to go to work this morning.
Now I am feeling better and ds is doing really well with his recovery 'this' is all starting to crowd back in.
My Father has never been a 'believer' in Fathers day but for some reason I am finding the fact today is Fathers day hard. I have spent a good amount of time thinking about my (step) Dad and enjoying the many happy memories with him however there is an amount of overlap between my Father and Dad, there is the things you would expect, the things my Dad did for me or with me that my Father would never do (for example: sit down and try and teach me Latin, tell me his experiences of being a pilot when I was interested in flying) but then the are the things that were similar that happened in the same places. I have talked allot about the bedtime stories because this is my clearest memories of inappropriate sexual behaviour, the house I grew up in, we moved when I was 12, holds memories of both my Father and Dad, down to the same chair in front of the open coal fire where I would be read my bedtime story. First there are the memories of this with my Father, I can clearly remember, so vividly I am almost transported back, the smell, the sounds, the sensations. Little while with pick flower vertical stripes nylon nighty, no underwear (why would you at home safe with your family as a young child), hair wet from the bath. Climb onto Fathers lap for story, the strong smell of home brew beer all over him, a heaviness to his breathing, the way he would pull me close, put his hands on me, call me silly names. The conflicts of feelings, I have managed to get his favour but there is an anxious edge to it, I am going through the motions of what is expected of me but I don't want to stay any longer then I have to, I can't understand what all this means, what all these feeling are, I am too young, these memories come from between the ages of 6 and 9 , I don't remember the books he read but I remember every other little detail like I am back there.
Now the same chair, these memories come from the ages of about 8-10, my Dad, I burst into the room fresh from the bath and jump on his lap with my copy of lion the witch and the wardrobe, he tells whoever may be there that they will continue their conversation after my chapters, he opens the book and we are lost in the world of the story. I never want that to end, I always want more, I want to stay on Dads lap while he continues the conventions he was having, I feel secure, loved and wanted. It makes me feel warm and whole.
The above descriptions are a sample of the things that are tormenting me, I have left out for obvious reasons some of the details of the account of stories with my Father.
As my Dad was actually living in the family home as a lodger before my parents divorce (There was nothing other then friendship and support between my Mum and Step Dad for over 3 years after the divorce) I don't want to go into to much possibly identifiable detail but my Dad was a scholar, he ran a department at a university, same one my Mum went to, he never taught her but he did run evening meet ups for like minded people of debate topics in the field. When he was lodging with us he sometimes hosted them at our home, these were the things I likes to huddle down and just listen and be. It is kind of complex and I am not sure if any of that is going to make sense) to get back to the point, I had both under the same roof for a time although my Dad was not my Dad then, he was Mark (not his real name). Even though I had a Father living at home I sort a Father figure out, I find that strange. My Step Dad never tried to be my Father, I only called him Dad after his death when I was 17 when I truly realised what I had once I lost it. My Dad was a man who could be relied upon, who would do what ever needed to be done, who lead me on some remarkable intellectual adventures, who acted like my taxi service when I needed/wanted to go somewhere, who gave me little jobs to do so I could earn a few extra pounds, was interested in my homework and what I was learning about, who never ever belittled my feelings or emotions about anything and above all, he was a man who asked for nothing in return.
I feel like my Father sullies the memory of my Dad.
My Dad was far from perfect. He made mistakes, but when I hear his name or I think of him I feel safe and warm. When I hear my Fathers name of think of him I feel anxious, frightened and trapped. I always thought it was because I have such a stilted and awkward relationship with him but now the doors have been thrown open and it is hard to know what to think, I don't want to make mountains from mole hills, I don't want to look for things that aren't there, I have let the memories come back to me in their own time and pace rather then trying to force them out. A huge part of me wants me to be totally wrong, I don't want any of this but I have also accepted that things did happen, I don't at this time have the details of anything other then a couple of incidents, the dark shadows may give up the answers but they just as well may not. I am scared of being told I am a silly girl who is confused about what she remembers.