Two weeks ago, I sent an email to my dad listing the dates I would be available for a family vacation this summer. I also listed the dates that I had professional obligations that would bring me within driving distance of his place. Since I knew that their schedule was pretty packed this summer, I left told him that I would come back from Africa early if that's what it would take to make a family vacation possible.
For a few days I was puzzled that I didn't hear back from him. Since I copied his wife on the email, I figured there was no chance it had gone astray. After fours days and no reply, I started crying just a little bit. When I hit the seven day mark, I cried a whole lot, finalized my plans for Africa, and moved on.
My brother Buzz has never been thrilled with the idea of me going to Africa. He didn't love it the first time I did it, and now that I will be visiting the country right next door to Kenya, he is the opposite of happy. When I told him I had booked the trip and why, he told me that Dad had written an email in response to my email as part of a reply to some other email he had gotten from Leta. And had forgotten (somehow) to copy me. Or whatever. So my brother was the only person who knew that the only time it is convenient for my dad and his wife for us all to get together are the first two weeks of August, which is precisely when I will be in Africa. The rest of their summer is already wall to wall with plans.
So now there will be no family vacation and I will be going to Africa and my brother is the opposite of happy with me and who the hell knows how my dad feels about any of it? He knew the dates I was planning my trip back in January, so the fact that the only dates that he declared it ok for us to visit happen to be the only dates when I can't make it? What does that mean, exactly?
I am done. Done letting other people tell me what is important, done putting other people's feelings first, done bleeding money to see people who think they are doing me a favor. And I am most especially done letting my dad hurt me.
So if anyone notices my anxiety level flat-lining as if I were in a coma, please note that it is no accident. There really does reach a point where "it" goes well beyond not sweating the small stuff. I am sweating NO stuff.