Friday, 16 February 2018

Eilat, February 2018

This is so odds it's almost alien to a write. It's  been twelve years since mom passed away, and twelve visits to this house, my dad's  house, where his will is absolute and mine does not exist, where tempers rise over trifles and you end up with yells (roaring, really, like in the movies; it's normal here) and tears and - We all do that violent yelling, not only dad; and the reason hated coming here since mom passed away is that nobody wants to spend time where they feel their words, needs and requests are ignored, as if irrelevant. If you're tired, hungry, want to be alone, feeling ill - it doesn't  matter. You will do what daddy says, even if you're  really hungry now and dinner is in two hours. You are loved, but you are also a child whose wills are invalid and subject to ruling out.

So loathed having to come here for the memorials, and I stayed as little as I could, until three weeks ago when I came to visit daddy solo for the first time ever, because it broke my heart to think good him feeling lonely. And in that visit he realised something and everything changed, so this memorial visit - with bro but nobody else, three days already - is actually really, really nice. I'm treated nicely, brother is actually watching my back, and - really, it's like magic. And I think it's all because Rachel taught brother and I how to better understand people, to communicate and to phrase ourselves, so I, at least, am no longer aggressive when I explain to dad what bothers me; so he can actually hear it and not bristle and tell in return. Feedback is given, and is accepted. And the other night dad apologizes for how he behaved that day two years ago, with the cintiq and the phone calls. He apologised for a fault of his, which he did less than ten times all my life.

This visit is different, and I don't only tolerate it - I enjoy it, and this is so weird and new and nice,


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