Family Wreckage

I didn’t weigh in on Sunday, which the observant among you might’ve noticed. I was out of town, visiting family and stuffing myself with that most reliable of all comforts. I got back late last night, and I haven’t weighed myself… I just can’t bring myself to do it yet.

It was a tough trip. I was looking forward to it in many ways, because it’s a rare event indeed to have both of my brothers and myself in one place at one time. One of my brothers is married and lives in Africa with his wife and two kids. I see him and his family a couple of times a year, but rarely with my other brother. We all agreed a few months ago to meet up for the long Memorial Day weekend at my father’s house for a visit. Then two weeks ago, my father had a fairly serious car accident. He was banged up a bit but otherwise hardly hurt at all, but it was a scary wreck and one that was entirely his fault. He is going to be 81 in a few months and has had several accidents in the last five years, though none of them this serious. The fact of this accident changed the whole atmosphere of the visit. My brothers and I agreed that our father needs to quit driving, and the visit became about convincing him to agree to this perspective as well. Our mother passed away several years ago, so the burden of this process falls to us. I knew that confronting him on this issue would be tough, but the part I didn’t foresee was that there would be tension between my brothers and myself as well, given that we had very different ideas about how to approach our father.

Ultimately, I chose to talk to him by myself. It was a sad, difficult conversation. My relationship with my father has always been complicated, but I hated to see him being by turns sad, defiant, irrational, angry… He fought back by attempting to create a distraction in the form of “observations” about my relationship with him and how he has felt unloved by me. I am proud of how I handled all this, in a way—I remained focused on the issue at hand, which is whether or not he should drive the car, and I refused to get baited into some side argument about my not being a loving enough daughter. But still, I feel bad to see the man I once admired so much, and whose admiration I so craved, being peevish, angry and irrational. To see him reduced, somehow. And to know that I had a hand in that, whether or not it’s ultimately for his own good.

So, what did I do with this tension and this sadness? I don’t even need to say, because you all know. But I’ll say anyway: I ate. I ate bowls of cereal at midnight, just like I used to. I snacked on trail mix and chips all day. Some fruit, too, but it might as well have been pieces of cardboard, so little did I notice what went into my mouth.

As I said, I haven’t weighed. I don’t have any idea what I gained. I want to focus on getting my equilibrium back, on feeling in control again. Obviously, I need to know the number. Maybe Sunday. Yes, definitely Sunday. I can commit to that much.