Misspriss's blog post - Sometimes we have to accept who someone is...

And love them anyway.

When I was a little girl I was adopted by the man my mom married. He gave me his name, two siblings, and as much love as he knew how for about 5 years.
When my parents split up, he moved on, actually he moved on first, that is why they split up. His new wife and new life did not have enough room for all of us. He became a part time dad. Not even every other weekend. More like, whenever he felt like it. His new wife liked to remind me that we shared no DNA. I was young. And although I already new the origins of my beginnings, it stung for someone to tell me that I wasn't his "real" daughter.
Those words were the only ones that would lead him to defend me. She could accuse me of "stealing" food, not taking proper care of myself, and of saying things I didn't say, and he would say nothing. He would let her send me to "my" room for hours. He would allow her to withhold meals from me for my alleged misbehaviors. She pretty much could say and do what she wanted towards me, and he would turn a blind eye. I was hurt.
I stopped visiting him. I stopped calling him "Daddy", I thought I would never forgive him.
I did.
Their marriage didn't last. I was both happy and sad. I was happy because I thought that meant I would get my Daddy back. I was sad because he was so crushed and attempted suicide while home alone with a younger sibling. It hurt to think that he would rather die without her than to live for his children. (Remember that... it will come back up later)
Years would pass and our relationship would have it's ups and downs. He got remarried and gave me another sibling. I got married, he walked me down the aisle, along with my step dad. My new husband I lived with Dad and his new wife for a little while.
My marriage didn't last. My husband was an asshole. End of that story.
Dad's new wife was the opposite of his last one. She was sweet and loving and so wonderful. We had a lot in common, after all, she was closer to my age than to his. By a lot. Dad had always been a bit of a recluse. He had social anxiety. It got worse as time went on. His new, younger wife couldn't live that life. That marriage didn't work out either. We continued to mend our relationship, always with me going to him. But I loved him, so I was willing to do that.
I got married a second time. Before my wedding dad said some things that crushed me. I don't want to share those things. But it was the biggest wrench ever thrown into our relationship. I stopped talking to him. I couldn't even believe how hurtful he could be without knowing it. For years I would only see him during holidays, I would hug him and tell him I loved him. I did. But the hurt was so big.
Dad got sick. We started to talk again and make moves forward in healing our relationship. I had no idea how sick he was. Neither did he. 15 months ago the Cancer rollercoaster showed up. It was a ride that sucked for all of us. We rallied. We all tried to go to the most important appointments. We made sure dad knew that whatever path he chose, we would walk with him. And if needed, we would carry him. He was told that the Chemo would make him wish for death. He said, "I don't care. I want to do it. I want to live to spend time with my grandchildren. I want to live for my children." 26 years earlier he had tried to end his life over a woman instead of choosing to live for his children... here we were a lifetime later and he was choosing us. He was choosing so much pain, so much discomfort, and so much fear for us. Some would say, "too little too late." But no. It wasn't. We loved him bigger, stronger, harder. We changed our lives to take care of him as the end got harder.
A couple weeks before my dad lost his bravest fight we had a conversation. He prompted it while I was feeding him chocolate pudding. The words he said to me will forever be mine alone. But they were healing words. They are the words I remember when I am feeling so broken and lost and reliving our ups and downs.
When I spoke at his funeral I shook. My heart felt like it was literally breaking into a thousand pieces. There are days that I still feel like I did that day. There are days that I will have a great day, and then the guilt that I am not deeply grieving will gut punch me.
"Grief, I've learned, is really just love. It's all the love you want to give but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go."

If you've read this whole thing... thank you. If not, it's okay. It was for me. Not anyone else.


Edited to add: The quote at the end is not mine. I read it somewhere. The words are so true, so I chose to use them. I don't know their origin, or I would have credited the originator.
(sorry, being in school, I want to stress that I in no way intended to plagiarize someone else's words.)