- Ch: 10 of Under the Influence, Reclaiming my Childhood

Despite everything that happened, I loved my father and still do. To this day my biggest regret is not connecting with him more. I do not forgive him for what he put my brother and me through, but I regret not trying to get to know him on a deeper level, particularly as an adult. When I talk about my childhood, people always say something along the lines of:

“But you were just a child and he was the adult. He should have done more; it was his fault that your relationship fell apart.”

Yes, he was the adult and I was the child. But that truth does not change my role and my actions towards him. I still made the choice to limit contact. I still made the choice to become emotionally distant. I still made the choice to stop seeing him altogether for years. Despite all that he was and all that he did, I still played a role in our relationship, or lack thereof.

It would be very convenient to blame it all on him, and for years I did. I stopped seeing him almost completely when I moved out of home at around fifteen years of age. The only extended contact I had with him for the following eight years was at family gatherings. These interactions were very shallow. He would ask how my work and schooling was going, I would reply that they were going good. I would not elaborate or go into any depth and he did not enquire further either. I always felt that despite asking, he didn't really care. It almost felt as if he was going through the motions, checking the boxes so to speak.

“Ask about work? Check. Enquire about schooling? Check. Reminisce about something trivial that happened years ago? Check.”

I responded the same way back.

“Ask about his artwork? Check. Enquire about his health? Check. Mention something minor about my life? Check.”

Very dry and procedural. It was like we were both too afraid of each other. Or that we were too closed off to want to engage in any conversation of actual substance. So we would both play the game of father and son. At least that's what it felt like at the time. It may have been for the best because at least we remained civil.

Despite my best attempts to distance myself from him I still held so much anger. I would say to myself inwardly as well as affirm it to those around:

“My dad is nothing to me, I feel nothing, I don't care about him in the slightest.”

I would say it like a mantra, repeating it over and over. At one stage I even thought it was true. There is still an overpowering place of emotional turmoil festering deep within my soul. Tapping into that area still releases a lot of anger, rage and emotional instability. It's almost ironic that somebody that I had blocked off so significantly from all aspects of my life can still have such a massive emotional draw upon me. I suppose it makes sense though, there is a reason I blocked it all out. You can only really push something down for so long until it eventually resurfaces. Nothing stays hidden forever.

Maybe talking to him on a shallow level was the most our relationship could handle at the time. Back then I probably would have snapped if I’d had to explain how I truly felt to him. I don't know what would have happened, how far I would have gone and how he would have taken it. I didn't want to put that upon him. I still cared enough about him to not direct all my anger and emotional issues towards him. I wanted to both knock him out and hug him. Instead I turned inwards, resorting to drinking, cutting and other forms of self-harm as an outlet. I became lost inside myself and am only now rediscovering who I am.

On the other hand, maybe he should have heard it, maybe it would have helped us both.

“Did you even want me? Am I an accident? Or did you plan to raise me in this environment? If so, why? What kind of father would risk the safety of their children like you did, what kind of person would take their children on drug deals? Leaving them unattended for hours whilst they got high.

Why would you invite those people to your house when we were around? Were you really that desperate? Or did having other people near you make you feel like you had less of a problem? That somehow their presence meant you weren't as bad as you actually were?

All you are is a pathetic, worthless addict.

Did you think you could hide it from me? Did you think I didn't know what was going on? It's fairly obvious when I can easily find the pills, powder and needles. Quick hint, putting a towel over a bong is not an effective way to hide it.

It's lucky I didn't accidentally prick myself, or get curious and try some of the pills. Who knows, maybe that would have made my childhood more enjoyable, maybe then I would have understood your motives.

I hate the fact that I care about you, I hate the fact that you still hold so much power over me. I hate that somehow every interaction, every moment of my life is tainted by your influence.

I hate that I still love you.”

Perhaps it was best that we just kept to pleasantries, I don't know if I could have handled his response to any of that.

In the last year of his life I was in a substantially better place emotionally, I had met the love of my life to whom I was engaged. I had successfully completed my university degree and was working in my chosen field, it was her influence that inspired me to re-establish a relationship with Dad.

I began to visit him at his house for a couple of hours at a time. He was more than happy to have me around and to his credit he never made any reference to my lack of visits. But to be fair, I didn't bring up his lack of visits either. It started slowly. I began visiting him for a couple of hours randomly here and there until it became more consistent. It was awkward at first but eventually we were able to open up to each other a bit more.

His health and living conditions seemed to mirror each other. I remember on one of my first visits back to his house being surprised at just how bad his living conditions had become. His hoarding had just gotten worse and worse as he aged. Similarly, his overall health was fading as well. He seemed increasingly frail as the year progressed, his weight had dropped substantially and he was coughing and wheezing constantly. I was surprised by how fragile he had become.

I was wanting to connect with him more, so that year I decided to invite him to two major events of my life.

The first was my martial arts grading. Having trained for over five years by that point I was finally about to perform my black belt grading. I invited everyone that I believed would want to come and support me. This included Dad. On the day, I was so nervous that I had not even considered the possibility of him turning up. However, just before I began, he called my name. Surprised by his presence, I went over and hugged him. He wished me luck and said that he believed in me.

That grading was one of the most physically challenging days of my life. There were many times in which I was knocked to the ground and struggled to get up due to sheer exhaustion. At one point my coach had to slap me into focus, demanding that I continue. After I successfully completed my grading, I found out that Dad was seriously contemplating walking up to my coach to demand the he go easier on me. I am glad that he didn't go through with it but it was nice to know that he was in my corner so to speak. I was happy

After Dads passing, I was looking through his appointment diary. In it he had marked down the date of my grading. But what was really touching however was the piece of loose paper that sat next to it. On that paper, he told me how he had felt about me:

"The memory of seeing you in action on Sunday will rate as one of the top memories that I will cherish forever. I felt very proud of watching you fight with the heart of a warrior. Your teacher said that you are strong and I agree, body and mind. Zac, I also thought that you were very brave. Congratulations on your ascension to black level. Well done. With love and respect. Dad."

I burst into tears instantly, despite all our past, I still loved him and was so grateful for those words. He was never one to express himself emotionally, and even though it was only written down, it was one of the most thoughtful things that he had done for me. I am so grateful that he was present for that moment in my life.

The second major event was my engagement party. It was lovely to see my dad interacting with family members from both sides that had not seen him for years. It served as a pseudo reunion for him to re-engage with many people that were once a significant part of his life. It brought me lots of joy to see him there with a smile on his face, happy with the successes of his son.

Unlike when I was younger, I did not care how he presented himself. By this stage of my life, I knew that the people around me would only judge me by my actions, not by the actions of my parents. Regardless, I was pleasantly surprised when he arrived clean, shaven and dressed appropriately. Even more surprising was that he was sober.

At the time, I didn't realise just how sick my father really was. Granted, that by that stage he had been in and out of hospital multiple times for chest issues, it hadn't quite dawned on me that he was close to passing. Oddly enough I couldn't imagine him dying. However, looking back at the photos of that day, Dad seemed very sick. Gaunt, pale faced and very skinny. In addition, there are many photos of him with different people, but they all share two things in common. Dad is in the same location for each of them, and he is always sitting down with the others around him. It is clear now that he was so unwell that he struggled to freely move around.

A month later at Dad’s funeral, many people shared their happiness in his attendance at the engagement party. It was almost as if catching up with him then filled a hole in their hearts that they didn't even know was empty. I am eternally grateful that everybody got a chance to catch up with him before he passed away.

The week following Dad's death was one of the most stressful of my life. Due to the fear of continued theft and defilement of his home and possessions, I had to act quickly. So began the arduous and emotionally depressing task of sorting through his numerous possessions.

Given the sheer volume of stuff that Dad had accumulated over the years, the task was completed surprisingly quickly. We soon realised that there was basically only junk in his possession, interlaced with a variety of artwork, some randomly hidden jewellery and hundreds of dollars in drugs. We took what was emotionally significant and left the rest to the vultures to scavenge through. Within a week, some cleaners from the government came in and cleared the house of everything, filling up at least two skips in the process. They replaced the carpet and blinds then disinfected and perfumed the whole place, getting it ready for the next tenant.

To our surprise, Dad had taken out funeral insurance almost a year earlier. By that stage he couldn’t justify following the doctor’s orders and quit smoking just to give himself a little more time. So he made the choice to die sooner, doing what he loved. Thankfully he had planned ahead. He knew he was on the way out and wanted to at least help us with his burial costs. We were all quite grateful for that. Around that time in his diary he wrote:

"I would rather die earlier than change myself and live by their rules."

Dad’s funeral was quite stressful and it felt like everyone around me was falling apart. As always, I took on the role of the primary organiser. The rock that everyone could rely on. I’m not sure if I took on the role and people let me, or I had to play that role because the others needed me. Either way it felt like a fairly symbolic end to my dad’s life. With him not there and me trying to hold things together for the rest of the family. Regardless, it gave me no time to grieve. From the moment I found out he was gone, until he was in the ground, I was on. Working to sort through his house, liaising with the insurance company, arranging for the celebrant and coordinating with the funeral home left no time to myself.

His death only really hit me a couple of days after. He was the first 'close' person to me that had passed. Up until that point, the only people I knew that had died were old and distant relatives that I scarcely knew. It was sad, but I wasn’t personally affected by it. I thought that Dad’s death would be the same, after all I never felt that close to him and never felt like I cared that much about him.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. The reality of his death is still hitting home. Whoever says that time heals all wounds is surely mistaken. His passing has left a mark on me that no other event has ever done. It made death real. Perhaps it was the naivety of youth, but up until that point, I had never quite understood or really cared about death. It was something which you only had to consider when you’re older. Besides, no one is going to die, right? Up until that point, death was only an intellectual construct rather than an emotional reality. Since my dad’s death, I have been trying to spend more quality time with my family, because I now know just how frail life can be.

I feel like Dad’s passing has freed up some mental space that I didn’t realise was constantly engaged. I am now, for the first time in my life, finally able to look forward and see a light. See a possibility of a future that I want to make for myself. Not one that is just a by-product of my childhood experiences. I feel like I am finally freeing myself from the self-imposed shackles and rules that are no longer of any use to me. Most importantly, I have had the stark realisation that this is the only life that I have. The past is the past and it should stay there. There is no point in hanging onto it any longer.

I do wish that I had got to know him a bit better, I wish I had sat down with him and talked to him as an adult, face to face with an open heart and mind. I should have tried to have deep conversations with him. I wish I had asked him more than just 'how are you' whilst trying to finish the conversation as soon as possible. Perhaps a more direct approach would have provided some of the answers that I am so desperately craving.

I would have loved to explore the inspiration behind his incredible art. Confronted him directly about his addiction. Told him everything, my hopes, dreams, fears and aspirations. I wish I could have played one more game of chess against him. Hell, I even wish we could have shared a joint together.

Thinking back, it is easy to focus on only the negatives of the situation, he had his own demons to contend with. I know he loved us. It was in the small things, the unspoken things.

Whenever we were driving he would consistently let me play my music, never complaining. He would offer advice when we asked and always wanted to provide for us, even with the limited resources he had. Despite all of the trauma, issues and damage that he caused, I still miss him.

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Zachary Phillips