I hate that the crap left by my father is still running through my head and causes me grief and pain. I try to think of something, anything, he said to me as a kid or young adult that did indeed come to pass. My dad Robert was a master manipulator and I let him do it, I did what he asked because he was so good at saying that everything he did, he did for his family, so we could live comfortably and not worry about finances.
While he was alive I seldom asked him for anything. My brother and sister were real good at asking for stuff, and getting it handed to them. My father provided a house for my sister and her daughter, and on a regular basis, my brother would ask my father for money, either for business (he had a satellite installation business and drove long-haul trucks for awhile) or his hobby, racing cars. My dad handed over thousands of dollars to my brother, $10,000 at a time usually.
When my daughter needed to attend a special school, I did not ask my father for a dime of the annual $13K tuition (she was at that school for three years). Nor did he offer any assistance. He was too busy buying my stepsisters cars and trips and designer clothes and family vacations to Hawaii and Mexico, luxuries my siblings and mother never had because we were “sacrificing for the future.” He'd even paid for two years at that same school for his youngest stepdaughter, the one he ended up adopting.
He promised there would be money for college for his eldest granddaughter (actually all of his granddaughters). That didn’t come to pass either.
My dad lead me to believe that his estate would be somewhat pro-rated, that he was keeping track of what the other two cost him. From the late 1970s he held the promise of acreage over my head; he subdivided property and at one point, actually told me to go ahead and install a driveway, trees and a watering system on a 5-acre lot. We spent about 6 months planting, digging, and grading a home site, only to have my father say “My brother says we cannot afford to give you that lot, but I will give you a lot when the ranch (in my family’s possession since before I was born) is subdivided.” I shrugged it off, figuring my father had no reason to lie to me, and made plans for another home site. My father said that he would sign over the lot once his accountant told him he could do so, and he’d sign over his half of about 100 hilly acres so I could keep my horses.
Again we grated a home site and a driveway, looked into fencing and housing for horses, and acquired house plans. Again my father said “My brother says he cannot afford to sell you his half of that 100 acres at a discounted price. Pick another lot and as soon as my accountant tells me how I can maximize tax benefits, I will sign the lot over to you.”
I had house plans drawn up for that third promised lot.
Three promises, three promises unfulfilled. Why did I keep believing him?
When he died, his widow knew which lot my father had promised me. She conveniently “forgot” or claimed no such promise had ever been made. The lot was next to my father’s palatial home, and we joked I’d be able to take care of his dogs while he and Norma were off enjoying their retirement.
I wonder if my anger/hatred should be 100 percent directed at my father or his greedy widow. Perhaps they deserve it, 50-50. Her daughters now have the ability to go to their mother and ask for money at any time.
I do not have that luxury. I’m living from check to check, scared shitless, trying to get my kid through college. Much of the real estate owned by my father was sold by his widow and she took a full 50 percent of the proceeds. She receives all income from the investment properties. She bellyaches how she has to pay for everything as far as maintenance is concerned, and thinks the estate should have to pay. How can I pay for anything when I have no income from the properties at all? I’m supposed to pay out-of-pocket so she can have an income?
I had to give my horses away because I had no place to keep them. I’d like to think that my father would not have allowed that to happen, he knew how much they meant to me. His wife of course did not share his feelings, and she didn’t give a damn about what happened to my horses. I miss those horses every day, wish I had a place where I could have a horse in the first place.
When the widow dies, I will receive 1/6 of my father’s estate. I am forever tied to her daughters, including the youngest one who cared so much to be adopted that when she married, I (her "sister") wasn’t invited to the shindig.
I’ve said this before—I know it’s unhealthy to pray for karma to come back on someone, but I do. I want that woman to know that now I hate my father, that any pleasant memory I have of him ends up going by the wayside, thinking of the lies he told me to keep me in line all those years. Psychotherapy is probably a good idea, but I can’t afford that at all right now.
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