He wants peace before he dies. If you feel like giving him a gift offer him the reassurance that he seeks. Forgiveness will set you free.
NP It would be nice if that were a guarantee, not a platitude. But it's a platitude.
I get that it makes you feel better to say it, and I'm sure you want me to feel better, too. I do appreciate that.
Anonymous wrote:
Anonymous wrote:Your instincts are right. Do not bring up any grievances. The last is the past and he can’t change it. The fact that he brings it up often makes me think that he’s looking for you to agree. If it were me, I’d choose something tangible and true and tell him about it with enough details so he knows you mean it. Then ask a question about him and his life.
Example: “That’s right dad. You may not realize this but you gave me one of the greatest gifts of my life, my love of reading. Remember when you used to take me to the Davis library every weekend and let me stay as long as I wanted choosing books? You always had a book in your hand too, I get that from you. I hope I passed that on to Larlo. What inspired your love of reading? What’s your favorite book?”
That way you don’t have to lie and tell him he was perfect, you can give the gift of something true that he can hold onto.
Just to present a different point of view. My mother did this all the time. She did not put me or my sister first, she put her abusive relationship with my stepfather first. I saw him rage every night, belittle her, obsess about every object in our house (not allowed to use the stereo, toaster, bathtub off my room, etc.). Then to be an adult, and have her say things like, we had a really good time here, or there, or your husband is just like my step-father. It takes emotional energy to uphold their little world view so they can feel better about themselves. I wasn't willing to hold that anymore. Wasn't my childhood enough? Hadn't I already paid and paid and paid. She needed to grow up, not me. I told her the truth, and that I was angry. It was liberating.
My mother abused me, and I put my life on hold to care for her as she was dying. She hit me, burned my hand on the stove (still have scars), demeaned me, overlooked sexual assault as a teenager when I told her. As regards the latter, she only thing -- the *only* thing -- was if he was black. She didn't ask anything about me or how I felt, whether I was hurt, none of that. But we were in a poor white racist community, and apparently the only thing that mattered was the color of his skin.
I took care of her as she was dying from metastatic cancer. Over and over she would restate how she was a good mother, and how at least she and my father never hit or abused us. (What?!?) I tried agreeing, and I tried deflecting, but it never would really let up. And I was hurting myself by participating in it -- by denying my real experiences, it was retraumatizing. Not as bad as the first, but not healthy. Not at all.
Eventually I would leave the room if she felt like having that conversation with herself, and we'd talk about something else when I came back.
She had trouble living with what she had done, later. But I was supposed to bear the brunt of living with what she did to me at the time AND the burden of denying it? No thanks.