Chapter 5: Dad's Gift

I've always admired my best friend, Ken Hanna. Ken has always been one of the most disciplined and focused people I've ever met. He is the type of person who says he is going to do something and he does it; period, end of story.
I first realized this about 30 years ago. When I met Ken, he was 5'7" tall and weighed about 120 pounds.
One day he said, "I think I'd like to be a bodybuilder."
I said, "Oh, yeah?"

Ken says, "Yeah. I'm going to join a gym and I'm thinking of competing in the San Jose Body Building Championships in a couple of years. Probably as a light heavyweight, at first."

Really? I thought to myself, that'll be a major uphill battle; A light heavyweight, at first?
Two years later, Ken was 185 pounds of ripped muscle and he won his division at the San Jose Bodybuilding Championship. That's just one example of the discipline that Ken has demonstrated since we've been friends. It really is no surprise if you knew his dad. Ken's father was "old school" disciplined. He was very frugal with money and never lived beyond his means. When he passed away, he left Ken and his sister a very good inheritance which Ken says he will pass on to his son. I have no doubt that he will do just that.

I had another friend named Jeff Tidwell who at 19 years old was one of the most talented artist I've every met. Jeff's canvas was automobiles. Jeff did custom paint jobs that were truly unbelievable. Whether it was flames, candy or pearlescent paint jobs, Jeff was an amazing artist. If you knew Jeff's father, you knew that he came by his talent honestly. His dad was also an amazingly talented artist who loved to paint custom cars. He passed that talent on to his son.

I've often wondered what my dad passed on to me? Besides the name, what was his "gift" to me? By "gift" I mean knowledge, skill, aptitude, perhaps a drive to succeed. What did my father pass on to me?

My father was really talented with his hands. He was a gifted artist; he carved figurines from wood and he even drew cartoons for the local military base newspapers. His patience and attention to detail were skills that were evident in his artwork. These skills combined with his penchant for tinkering with things made him a master mechanic. My father could fix anything mechanical; cars, helicopters, sonar equipment, you name it and he could fix it. Unfortunately, I didn't inherit any of these traits from my father, nor did he attempt to pass any of his knowledge or skills on to me. All parents pass something on to their kids, don't they?

In the Fall of 2003, my wife and I are dealing with the news of Danielle’s diagnosis and there is nowhere to turn. It’s so hard to lean on each other when you are both experiencing the same intense emotions. Kathy’s family is in Texas and my mother and sister are in Atlanta. Friends can’t understand what you’re experiencing and many start to slowly withdraw. I realized that I was a bit testy and moody from time to time but I was dealing with some pretty strong emotional issues so it was only natural that I was “grumpy” from time to time.

One day at work, I was having a nightmare of a time with a project. After ten or twelve hours I was at my wits end and I finally lost my temper with one of the contractors. I began shouting at him and said some things that I immediately regretted. A coworker and friend took me aside and asked me what was wrong. She said that she had wanted to talk with me about my attitude and behavior but she was hesitant because she understood that I was under pressure. She went on to tell me that I’d been difficult, moody and sullen for quite some time and she suggested that I go to our HR department, utilize our employee support network and seek counseling.

Needless to say, I was more than a bit shocked that Ann would suggest such a thing. We’d been friends for many years and I valued her opinion but I think she might have gone a bit far this time. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. How could she say I need counseling? This particular contractor had been making mistake after mistake and it was affecting our labor cost so I finally lost it with him. He deserved it! How could she take this incident and say it is just one of several examples of the change in my behavior? I thought, “from this point on, it’s strictly business between Ann and me. No more friendship.”

When I got home, I told Kathy about my horrendous day and Ann’s dime store assessment of my psyche. Kathy looked me in the eye and said, “I don’t understand what’s wrong with you”. The words hung in the air forever. I said, “what do you mean, what’s wrong with me? Did you hear what Ann said about me?”

Kathy began to talk about what it was like to live with me over the past 9 months. I was irritable and moody. I had no energy and very little interaction with the girls. I was always tired and rarely talked of anything but how much I disliked what I was doing. I was unpleasant and temperamental. These were unfamiliar traits to her and to others who knew me.

I don’t know that her concerns or those particular words would have had the impact that she expected or hoped it would. However what she said next would change my life forever. Kathy expressed a deep concern for my relationship with Taylor and Danielle. I’ve always been hesitant to spank or physically punish my girls. Though I threaten to “spank” them if they deserve it, my girls pretty much know I’m not going to do anything. I’m sure my personal experiences with abuse have influenced my way of thinking when it comes to that. Kathy’s concerns were not of a physical nature but of a psychological nature. Kathy was deeply concerned about the way I talked to my girls when I was angry. She said that the harshness of my tone, the anger in my voice was often ugly and frightening. She said that I spoke to them like they were boys not the beautiful little girls that they are.

Suddenly, I began to see what others had seen for the past nine months. NINE MONTHS. I realized that Kathy was right; I was always tired. I felt like I was carrying a one hundred pound backpack everywhere I went. If I could sleep ten hours each night, it would not have been enough. I was angry with my mother because she rarely called to talk with her granddaughters. I was angry with my sister but I can’t remember why. I hated going to work each day. Most importantly, there was a significant change in my physical appearance; I had gone from a high of 260lbs. to 226lbs. in a nine month period. The weight loss was slow and steady. I had not been under 240lbs. in fifteen years. Since we don’t have a scale in our house, the weight loss went almost unnoticed. But here it was, right in front of me, as it had been all along. It wasn’t Ann or Kathy or the contractor…(Well it could have been that contractor.)

I made the decision to contact my doctor and go in for a physical and get a referral for counseling. I didn’t want to use my employer’s counselor because of confidentiality concerns. Though counseling sessions are supposed to be confidential, I have found that that is often not the case when the counselors are employed or contracted by your employers. ( I’m sure counselors who read this will be appalled by the inference of complicity. It’s true, I know of people who’ve used a counselor through our employer and everything that was said ended up back in HR. If possible, avoid such situations at all cost.)

After I completed my physical exam, the doctor sat me down to discuss my family’s medical history. When the topic switched to my father, I told the doctor that my father had a pretty clean medical history from what I knew. Both paternal grandparents lived long and healthy lives, there was no cancer, heart problems or high blood pressure.

Other than my dads smoking and beer drinking, he was in good shape….Here we are, back to the BEER, again. Now he’s been retired for twenty years and drinking beer everyday; four, five or six beers on average. I recall my dad drinking beers as far back as I could remember in the mid-sixties. He would drink an 18 pack of beer on Saturday but he would only drink 12 on Sunday because, after all, Monday was a workday. But I wasn't sure he still lived that way. He used to be that way but I haven’t seen him in almost nine years. Maybe he’s changed his ways.

The last time I saw my father was in April of 1995. I received a phone call from my sister, Yvonne who lives in Atlanta. Evie told me that she got a phone call from a relative in St. James Parrish, Louisiana. My dad was in the hospital and he was gravely ill. We needed to get there as soon as we possibly could. The news came as quite a shock to me. I hadn’t seen my father since 1983 and we had only spoken a couple of times during that twelve year span. So, I was more than a bit shocked to hear that he was sick and more than a bit guilty for not keeping in contact.

From a financial standpoint, It was a very difficult time for Kathy and me. We had just gotten married and purchased our home. We were a bit cash strapped and I had to borrow money from friends to buy my plane ticket to Baton Rouge. Nevertheless, I arrived at Baton Rouge within 36 hours, picked up a rental car and I went straight to the hospital.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was almost overcome with anxiety. I was really excited to see my dad after all these years but there was also a strange sense of foreboding. I wasn’t sure what to expect, or was I? Would he be able to speak, will he recognize me, what about the brothers and sisters I’ve never met?

When I entered his hospital room, I immediately saw my sister and brother-in-law, my father’s wife and one of his young daughters. I looked at my father as he lay in the hospital bed and he was so small. I was truly stunned at how really small he was. When I was a kid, my dad was big, really big. He was like a giant to me. It wasn’t just me, other people would always comment on my dad’s height. “That Miller sure is a tall drink of water”, my grandmother would say. (Everyone called my dad by his last name, Miller. It’s a military thing, I guess. I didn’t even know my dad’s first name until I was ten years old.) The fact is, my dad was 6’1” tall, but he was only about 145lbs. soaking wet. This gave him the appearance of being very tall. Unfortunately, his recent illness has caused him to loose nearly 25 of his 145lbs. He looked so small and so frail. His gums had receded from lack of proper dental care, he had dark circles around his eyes but he was awake and alert. He looked at me and smiled, “Hi Brian, what are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”, he asked. I haven’t seen him in twelve years, he probably heard from Evie that I was on the way and this is how he greets me, “what are you doing here?”. I kissed his forehead and I told him that I heard he was in a bad way. He said “no they just want to run some test but I’m alright.”

For the next two hours we made small talk but I can’t remember what was said. I just remember feeling like I was in the way, like he would be more comfortable after I/we were gone. It wasn’t exactly a cold reunion but it wasn’t warm and friendly either. It was more like two old acquaintances talking about people they commonly new, rather than a father talking to his adult son. I left his room after a couple of hours and promised to come back the next day and see him.

When I returned the next day, we spent several more hours making small talk and confirming that we had absolutely nothing in common. It is a strange feeling when a father and his adult son are complete strangers. It probably isn’t as strange if you’ve never known each other, but we did know each other; at least it seemed that we did. We didn’t have a falling out or disagreement that led to our separation. We didn’t dislike each other. We just didn’t know each other and he was really fine with that.

I spoke with his doctor and I was told that my father was not eating but he was drinking beer from sun up to sun down and chain smoking. Basically, beer and cigarettes were his only source of caloric intake. Evidently, this is not good for you, especially when you’re in your mid sixties. Who knew?

When I left his hospital room, I knew that he would be going home and I knew I would never see him again. I knew he would never call me or visit me. If I wasn’t willing to continue to reach out to him, the relationship would end. I had made the effort, many times over and I was satisfied that our dysfunctional relationship was not my doing. My dad passed away on my birthday in 2004. I didn’t attend his funeral, I had said goodbye long ago. But on this day, I did think about my father and I wondered about his gift.

My doctor’s diagnosis was a complete shock to me. I never understood the complexities of severe depression; the affect it has on those around you and the insidious way it becomes part of your personality. I didn’t inherit any special aptitudes, my dad never passed on any skills, trades or talents. Ironically, depression is the one lasting thing that I received from my dad; his gift to me. Depression is a dark and sinister disease. The symptoms are masked in the mundane and familiar. Each symptom that I experienced was perfectly “normal” or at least understandable considering what was occurring in my life.

I was tired all the time. That made sense; I worked fifty hours plus each week, rotating schedules. I could work the symphony on Thursday, Friday and Saturday night, have Sunday off and return to work Monday morning with a large convention. I’d worked like this for the past fifteen years. Is there any wonder I was tired all the time?

I was irritable and difficult to get along with. Sure I was, I was tired all the time. When I did get time off from work, I had to help Kathy and do the things that Dads do around the house. In many ways, I didn’t get a day off because Kathy needed a break whenever I was home. So, I was a bit grumpy and moody, who could blame me?

I was having a hard time sleeping. I had been diagnosed with sleep apnea several years ago. People who have sleep apnea often will stop breathing during the night. Symptoms also include severe night sweats and midday exhaustion. I saw nothing unusual about my being sleep deprived certainly nothing that would lead me to believe I had another disease. I’ve had problems sleeping for years.

My anger was getting to be a concern for me. I was angry at my family, I was angry at my friends, I was angry at the school district administrators, I was angry because I was angry and I couldn’t figure it out. There were times when my anger was completely out of control; out of proportion to the given situation. I knew that my anger was sometimes disproportionate to a given circumstance, but I couldn’t help it. Knowing that you are operating outside the bounds of reason and being unable to reel yourself in is a very strange place to be. I cannot condone people going “postal” or randomly, violently lashing out at those around them; but I do understand it.

All of these symptoms are easily explained when viewed independently. I was comfortable with the “explanations” that I had for my conduct and demeanor. However, Kathy’s concern for my relationship with my girls was the catalyst for change. Her concerns made me look at the whole picture, all of these changes in my personality, both subtle and the most noticeable. It was Kathy’s concerns and one other undeniable reality, the tremendous and unexpected weight loss.

Unexpected weight loss always scares people. Cancer, diabetes, lung, liver disease, when there is an unexpected loss in body mass, people tend to freak out. For me however, the loss was steady enough and I was preoccupied enough to be unaware of the significance until it was painfully noticeable. It started with a few people asking if I was on a diet. Next thing you know, I was about to give one of my favorite sports coats o a friend because I had outgrown it. After I picked it up from the cleaners, I decided to try it on just one more time before I gave it away. It fit me like a glove. I hadn’t been able to wear this sport jacket in two years and now it felt great and it looked great. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I had noticed a “slight” loss in weight but if I could wear some of my hold suits, that’s a good thing, right?

After a few months, it became evident that my weight loss was becoming a problem. All of my clothes were hanging off of my body. I’d put on a suit and I’d look like a kid playing dress up in his dad’s closet. Worst of all, I wasn’t trying to loose weight. I didn’t know what to do because I wasn’t doing anything to cause the weight loss; no special diet, just basic walking and jogging. Okay, I thought the first thing to do is to stop jogging and eat more…In reality, the first thing to do should have been to go to the doctor for a check up like my wife suggested. But, eventually, I got around to that after the “home-made” remedies failed to work.

We (men) tend do that when it comes to medical issues. I believe it’s a control issue for many guys. I know I definitely felt like I had more control over what was happening to me before I saw my doctor. The thing that bothers men is that doctors take away your sense of control over a situation. Even though your sense of control may be completely imaginary, it lends a certain amount of comfort and “security”. Doctors make you look at the reality of things and won’t allow you to “power through” situations. That’s why men don’t like to go to the doctor.

Following a thorough medical exam and discussion about my family history, my doctor prescribe a change in diet, exercise and a daily dose of 15mg. Paxil to address my issues of depression. Within 4 to 7 days of starting my daily regimen of Paxil and exercise, I felt like a new person. The anxiety and pressure was decreased, I was actually sleeping through the night without night sweats and I could “feel” the difference in my ability to control my anger. After several weeks, I found it hard to believe that I my behavior was so difficult and capricious. It is equally reassuring that those you love will stand by you even though your personal demons make you unbearable and boorish.

In the end, Dad’s gift has given me more insight into who he was and what he struggled with. What would he have been like if he had been treated for his depression? Would our relationship have been different? If I had not been treated for my depression, what gift would I have left for my girls? Now that I have sought treatment for my condition, what will I do with the knowledge I’ve gained?
Life is an unbelievable journey…