So my friend is writing her memoirs as part of an MFA degree and hit a difficult part, namely writing about her father. Well, she asked had any of her readers had experiences where writing about family helped heal them (okay, something to that effect).
I started typing a response and realized it could get seriously long, so I decided to put it here instead.
What saddens me is how often I’m finding that my overly dysfunctional childhood family is more the norm than anyone would ever wish. I dealt with my issues with my mom a hundred years ago, but my father? Not so much. I did finally get up the nerve to send him a letter a few years back and asked him why he’d done the things he’d done. I didn’t get an answer and it was okay, but just the act of writing helped free me up a bit. My brother sent me an email the other day about how I should let my children get in touch with their grandfather. I explained that I wasn’t stopping them, but it would be strange for them after all these years, but I’d left it up to them.
I thought I’d had done with night terrors and really weird dreams, but I’ve been all over the map the last week or so and aside from the normal stress of my life, I’m guessing this has a lot to do with thoughts and memories of my father. Ugh. Don’t we ever get to grow up and leave the past in the past?