A father who contributed significantly to the lack of my personal development died in 2007. I have to some degree since, come to terms with who he was and why he behaved the way he did. Frank conversation with his brothers and sisters post-death revealed that he'd had at least a significant depression from his late teens on. It was never treated.
My mother developed Parkinsons when I was 8 years old and that was tough. My mother didn't need to suffer that. Especially paired with my father's habitual cold distance. I've been told lately she had plans to return to work nursing just before she was diagnosed. So much could have been done to help with that household but it was a different time. Most folks were mute when it came to mental health and marriage difficulties. Depression claimed my mother too eventually. How could it not have?
He wore a gold ring. This ring [it wasn't a wedding band] has been a big part of my image of him as far back as my memory goes. His hands always looked so big. I still picture him as having hands bigger than mine. Larger than life right? When he died it was given to me and I've worn it daily ever since. The reasons why are unclear. Maybe it's a symbol of wishing for a connection that never existed. A symbol somehow for the ongoing need to feel more than a being who could never be good enough. The ring never did remind me of the good in him. It represented only the demeaning authoritarian.
So tomorrow I'm selling this ring to a jeweler here in town who buys, as they say, 'your used and broken gold'. "Haha...this here ring is in fine shape mr. jeweler...it's just figuratively broken!" Anyway, I'm not sure how I feel about it all yet. lately I've been feeling a little weird about life, the universe and all the rest of it. More than usual. I'm wondering if my urge to get rid of the ring is part of an attempt at some sort of emotional unburdening I'm needing.
I'm a little afraid it'll backfire somehow but I don't think it will. I have things of his that mean far more to me than this ring. This ring is HIM. Most of the other things I've salvaged from my childhood can in some ways be called OURS. An example is the fishing creel that hangs by the front door. A wicker fish-basket that we took on fishing trips. The better memories. His old typewriter too, which sits on a bookcase. Its clatter in the evenings was a soundtrack for my early childhood. Back when I had yet to suspect that things weren't going quite right.
Not enough room to ever cover how I feel about all this. Not enough courage to try is the truth. Memories are often landmines that I'll stumble innocently upon and they can sometimes leave me pretty shattered. At times for days. Anyway...maybe I just had to document this process a little to shore it all up in my mind. So yeah. Bye bye ring. You're just a ring. I've wished you were much more for too long.