A number of years ago, I went through bankruptcy. (I guess that's all I'll say about that at the moment.) The process itself was grueling, but what weighed on me heaviest through that year or so was what might happen when I told my Dad. Never mind that I was pretty sure that he had also gone through it himself, right before I graduated from high school. When we left Schenectady for summer in the Adirondacks, it turned out to be "for good" -- a huge moving van rolled into our driveway, and a day or so later most of the family belongings were stored in a large north country closet, and our summer proceeded as normal, even though nothing was "normal", nor would it ever be. (I don't think I have ever recovered from either bankruptcy.)
In any case, I never told my Dad or brothers about my bankruptcy as it was unfolding, and rather few of my friends. It wasn't shame, really, just the need to go through it on my own terms without other people's energy dragging me down. In a lifetime of loneliness, though, this was a low point. Trying to keep my own spirits up (even with a considerable amount of support from my spirit guides, no doubt!) was hard, hard work.
But several years later when I went out west, I finally built up the nerve to tell my father what had happened. Even though he had always been emotionally distant, I guess my worst fear was that this would be the moment when emotion would break through the surface, and he would yell and scream and call me an irresponsible idiot. (On the other side of the coin, I longed for him to finally apologize for all the financial upheaval 35 years earlier. I longed for him to hug me and say, "Oh honey, I'm so sorry you had to go through such a thing!")
After bracing myself, I told him in the simplest terms what had happened. There was no reaction whatsoever in his blank eyes, and they returned down to his newspaper or book, and that was that. No response whatsoever. Nothing. And just about the same thing happened with one of my brothers. I'm not sure I ever bothered to tell my other brother, rightly or wrongly believing that another blank stare was in the offing.
It is almost impossible to believe that it would take several more years (including the bag-of-stale-candy event that I spoke of in both September of 2018 and January of 2022) before I cut off relations with my father almost completely, having finally come to understand his utter incapacity to feel human feelings. Despite his beatific smile and his ability to navigate some larger social situations, there was nothing inside. I had spent 60 years believing this to be impossible, and I kept trying desperately to crack open his heart. How could a father not love his children? Not love a beautiful, intelligent, loving daughter? Not try to protect them, make their life easier, or express affection, even in adulthood? This went against almost everything I could possibly imagine about being a parent, even though (in this lifetime) I hadn't been one.
There are different kinds of bankruptcy, but complete emptiness of the heart may be the most devastating to everyone in these people's lives. When my dad gifted me with a ten-year old bag of stale candy, my eyes were finally, excruciatingly opened to reality. The one person in my world whose job it was to love me, didn't, never had, and never could have.
