I need a handhold and a dose of reality/common sense in equal measures.
Backstory: My father has always been quite short tempered, lovely to neighbours but shouted, used bad language to us and bad tempered in the home. I can say quite truthfully that I cannot remember ANY happy times growing up. I was always quite fearful, never felt good enough, was frequently put down and generally seen as a bit stupid. I stayed in my bedroom most of the time as whatever I did was wrong. If I didn't eat dinner, I was shouted at. If I ate dinner, I'd be picked on for some other reason.
I left home in my early twenties and gradually started reducing the length of my visits there and then started reducing the visits themselves.
Then I had children. I figured it would be unhealthy for my children not to have some sort of relationship with their grandfather. So I went back for short visits. Some went well and some other I cut short as my children were seen as a disturbance. He is getting old and I tried to return once every two or three months. It took quite a lot of preparation to travel there and once we arrived there, he'd ask when we were leaving. I never went alone, always with my DH and children.
Recently he got quite seriously ill and we thought he was going to die. For the first time in many years, I went to the house alone without DH or my children. I didn't want them to disturb him and I knew they wouldn't be welcome at the time. I stayed there for two weeks, ready at any time to be called to his bedside to say our final goodbyes. He didn't realise I was there during that time and once or twice he told me to go back to my children. I assured him they were ok and I would return once he was better. He got over his illness and made a full recovery. On the day he was told he was 'better', he hurled a load of abuse at me. I was shellshocked. I think I still am. At the time, I said quietly that I am not going to stay to be yelled at and I walked out of the room. Shortly afterwards I packed my bags to return home. I looked into his room and he was sleeping. I walked out the door not saying goodbye.
Five hours later I arrived home and after trying to catch up on everything, I am now sitting now and I feel so hurt. DH has held my hand and has been great but I am shocked. I feel I am being dramatic but it has brought back a lot from my childhood and I hate leaving him without saying goodbye after him being so close to death.
I don't even know why I am writing this, maybe I'm hoping someone can explain why or what happened.
If he had never been like that before, I'd have said it was the illness, the scare, anything but scarily he was exactly as he used be years ago. I think I am shaking because it brought back so many memories I had closed off.